The Redemption Files
by Drumboy100
Summary: Nancy has given up detective work after a traumatic experience on a mission. Frank knows that Nancy isn't telling the whole truth, but the secrets run deeper than either of them ever imagined. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** The Hardy and the Drew families live in the same general vicinity, around the New Jersey/New York border. All young adult characters are in their mid-twenties. Not a traditional mystery, focus is on family relationships and the ability to change.

 **Warnings:** violence including mentions of terrorism, nongraphic adult situations and minor profanity

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys and I am making no profits by posting this.

 **Insanity in the Tell-Tale Heart**

"'The Tell-Tale Heart' starts with the following: 'Why will you say that I am mad?' Modern readers frequently take it for granted that the narrator is insane. But this is far from certain. It is also likely that the narrator murdered his housemate for his money, using insanity as a ruse. The historical context of the tale also supports such an interpretation, for in 1843, the year this short story was published, the issue of criminal insanity was a well-known social and legal debate.

"Before 1835, insanity pleas had been utilized only in extreme cases. Public and legal opinion began to shift in 1835 after a book was published that espoused the theory of 'moral insanity.' This is a phrase which refers to a person whose intelligence and social skills remain at average or above average levels, yet could still be thought of as literally powerless over themselves when it comes to behaving with empathy, civility, or respectability. Moral insanity may be compared to the modern condition of sociopathology."

Professor Ridlan stopped reading and took off his glasses. The lowered desk lamp cast a soft glow around its immediate vicinity, accenting the crow's feet that had accumulated around his eyes from four decades of smiling. His brown hair and fuller brown beard made him look more like a philosophy professor than a psychology professor. He let a moment pass. Then: "Nancy?"

Nancy felt her own tell-tale heart begin to twitter. Why had her professor summoned her to his office? "Yes?"

"Why do you think the narrator in the tell-tale heart was faking madness?"

Nancy relaxed, leaning back in her chair and tucking a strand of wavy reddish-blonde behind her ear. He only wanted clarification. "We should give more credibility to statements that can be confirmed by witnesses. This leads me to focus on the time when the police are present. Why would the police, who have been summoned in the middle of the night on 'suspicion of foul play,' sit down in the bedroom, not the parlor, and decide to have a nice little chat? The narrator said that the police were just sitting there, smiling, making small talk, dragging it out—exactly the kind of tactics that they might use to make a suspect crack."

Professor Ridlan frowned slightly, a soft, queer expression.

Nancy gazed at a spot in the distance. "The narrator knew that the police would need a solid motive in order to suspect him of killing an old man that he apparently knew well and had been living with for a while. Therefore when he fixates on the old man's evil eye, he knew that the police wouldn't consider that a credible motive, and might think it was the rambling of a perseverating person. And what's with the sentence of 'I _imagined_ ringing in my ears?' He either heard the ringing or he didn't. Is he trying so hard to seem insane that he is _trying_ to hear the ringing—"

"Nancy—come back to me, come back!" The professor waved a hand in front of her face, laughing gently. Nancy met his eyes, sheepish.

He mused thoughtfully, fiddling absentmindedly with a Bic pen. "Nancy, I only gave this assignment a week ago, in honor of Halloween approaching. It wasn't even on the syllabus."

Nancy's type-A personality flared. "Did you like it?"

Professor Ridlan gawked at her for a second, then cleared his features. "Nancy, it's phenomenal. You do great work."

A flush of pride crept into Nancy's cheeks. She adjusted her sweater and crossed her legs, glad that she'd worn a business-casual outfit to class that night.

"Once in a while, I try to come up with interesting assignments that make students apply themselves a little differently than they're used to. But, Nancy"—Ridlan gestured to her essay—"you researched the legal definition of insanity in 1843, the historical context, Poe's inner demons…"

Nancy waited. She raised her eyebrows.

"Which makes me wonder…" Ridlan leaned forward. "Are you that much of an overachiever? Or do you have a background in the criminal justice system? Or literary criticism?"

Nancy's jaw clenched. "That's how I think."

"And a terrific mind you have, too. Nancy, with the systematic way you think, I want to mention that this university has an excellent forensic program as well. It would take a couple of extra years, but you could get your Master's in Social Work _and_ Forensic—" The older man trailed off as he noticed a harder edge to Nancy's eyes. "Something to think about, at least."

Nancy softened. "You're right," she said in a low voice. Her shoulders hunched forward, and she looked younger than she had in a long time. "I used to work in the justice system. I want to try something different now."

Ridlan nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sensing that there's a story here, but that's your personal information. In the meantime, Nancy…I want you to spend the rest of your time in my class learning something new. Obviously you're headed for an A, seeing your kind of work, so don't worry about the grade. You're already a pro at analyzing with your head, but this is the social sciences. Forget about the books sometimes and ask yourself what your gut reaction is to some of the things we talk about in class."

During this pep talk, Nancy had found it increasingly more difficult to focus. She nodded, attempting to smile. "Okay. I'll try harder."

"Nancy, don't use this as an opportunity to beat yourself up—I love your essay. I'm just asking you to strengthen your heart as well as your brain. You'll need to connect with clients in order to be able to help them. Even if you know exactly why your clients are engaging in maladaptive behaviors, the analysis itself is only helpful if you can connect with them on an emotional level. Then you can build the relationship it takes to have them value your opinion." The professor grinned at her, and handed back her essay with "A plus" written in the top right corner.

"Thank you," Nancy whispered, and gathered her belongings.

ndndndnd

Carson Drew let his breath out in exhaustion as he walked—dragged himself, really, he thought ruefully—through the front door of his small, one-level house, dropping his briefcase on the dining room table, throwing his coat over a chair. He poured himself a nightcap, wincing as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. The bags under his eyes were becoming more permanent, a result of a lifetime of stress and late hours catching up to him, and his grey-fringed brown hair was thinning more and more every day.

Carson downed the sherry in one shot and put the glass in the sink, paused, then rinsed out the glass and put it away so Nancy would not see that this was becoming a nightly ritual. He opened his briefcase and removed a file, knowing that he needed to review some information about his case before bed. Padding in his stocking feet, he made his way to his bedroom, but stopped abruptly in the hallway as he heard a familiar sound.

Nancy heard a soft knocking at her door, and mentally berated herself for making too much noise. "I'm fine, Dad," she called as best she could, but winced when her shaky voice betrayed the recent tears.

The door opened. "Come on, Nancy, I'm a detective," Carson said softly, peering into the darkness. He walked to her and sat down on the edge of her bed, keeping the bedroom light off but the hallway light on.

"I can't talk, Dad, I don't want to," Nancy said, gathering her tissues and throwing them in the trash can by her bed.

"That's fine, honey, then just listen," Carson said, rubbing her back in circles like he did when she was younger. Nancy was too tired to protest. "I think it's very noble what you're doing, Nance. All I do is help catch the bad guys, but you're rehabilitating some of them, and preventing more crime by giving love and attention to people who don't have anyone else."

"Yes, Dad. I'm just confused about everything, that's all."

"Understandable." Carson took a moment to think hard about what he would say next. His hand paused on Nancy's shoulder. "Your midlife crisis came early. But you got right back in the saddle, you've got another career lined up and you're back in school."

Nancy covered her face. "But I'm still living at home since mental health case work pays so low, I've just got no idea about any…personal goals…"

Carson's face hardened. "About living at home," he said, more emphatically than he'd intended, "you know I want you to live here as long as you possibly want to. I enjoy your company, you know, and you and I both wouldn't like coming home to an empty house. And I certainly don't want you to live with a man before you're married."

"I know, Dad, I didn't mean it like that."

"Okay, sweetie. There's time to figure everything out. You're only twenty-four."

"Really. I have clients twice my age who say that they've been stuck for most of their lives."

Carson laughed, lightening the mood. "Touche, but you're on the other side of the desk. You're supposed to be talking them out of their problems, not agreeing with them."

Nancy smiled at that. She sat up, grateful for the semi-darkness as she faced her dad. She was used to dissecting evidence with him, not talking about feelings, and one positive of the past year had been the added closeness they'd been forced into. "Working with people, Dad, really listening to them…there's not much difference between all of us. Rich people walking down Park Avenue in furs, poor people spending their Social Security on lottery tickets…they're both looking for some kind of status, respect, a chance for a different life. Something that reminds them they're alive."

Carson smiled ruefully. "That's a lesson we all learn. You're just learning it younger than some others. You're already good with analyzing data, now you're learning to juggle the confusing mess of feelings. Including your own."

Nancy nodded slowly, thinking. "That's just what my professor said tonight. It's so hard, I'm not sure if I can think any other way…it's all so dangerous, so unknown and unpredictable, dealing with raw human emotion."

"Please don't get upset, I know we've been through this before, but I think you need to talk some more about that colleague that died during the mission in Paris last year. That's what changed everything, and at some point you'll need to work through it." Carson gave his only daughter a supportive look.

Nancy sat up and leaned backward against the wall, obviously thinking about what her father was saying. Carson loved it, the methodical way she analyzed the world, the high esteem she placed on loved ones' advice. "I'll think about it, Dad."

Carson followed her lead and changed the subject, but decided to bring up another topic while Nancy was in a receptive mood. "But honey, about the personal goals you were talking about…if you're not sure what you want, then Frank might not be the best person to spend a lot of time with these days."

Nancy looked his way cautiously. "What makes you say that?"

"You've got to understand, Nancy, that he's not exactly an unbiased source. And when you and Ned called it quits early last year, he obviously saw the opportunity he's been waiting for."

Nancy closed her eyes.

"Frank is going to try to bring the old Nancy back," Carson continued. "You need time to decide whether you _want_ the old Nancy to come back or not."

Nancy began to cry again. Frustrated, she dabbed a tissue furiously over her eyes.

"Frank's been waiting so long, I think he'll wait some more," Carson said. "Take your time and focus on other things for now, Nance. Detective work can't be the basis for a relationship. If you meet the right person, he won't care what line of work you're in."

"Maybe you're right," Nancy sighed. "Laura Hardy doesn't even know the first thing about taking fingerprints, yet Fenton, Frank, and Joe have always adored her. She's the innocent darling of their group." Yet Nancy was ashamed to admit even to herself that she sometimes had a hard time knowing what to say to Mrs. Hardy, a woman surrounded by crime scene investigation yet powerless to even understand what was going on around her.

Carson raised his eyebrows. "See? Anyway, just be careful around Frank. He sees his dreams falling down around him and will want to take action to fix you." Nancy was surprised by the note of disdain in her father's voice.

"Frank's a good man," Nancy responded, defensive. "But I get what you're saying, Dad. Unfortunately, though, I don't have an endless resource of friends…George is down south at her computer job, and Bess is going to be very busy adjusting to her new life. I was too wrapped up in mysteries during college to make many friends."

"People come into and out of your life for a season, and you have to appreciate them while they're there," Carson answered. "Bess and George you'll always have, but new people will come in. How about your colleagues at work?"

Nancy arched an eyebrow. "They all seem to be stuck in their routines. There's a woman there, Tracy, that I like, but she's got kids and a second job."

"Well, whoever you choose to confide in, Nancy…" Carson searched Nancy's eyes. "Pick someone, and fully put your trust in them. I'm okay with it not being me, I'm your father, maybe there are some things you don't want me to know. But right now I know some things that are going on with you, my guess is that Bess knows some other things, and maybe Frank knows something else. But there needs to be someone who knows _everything_."

Nancy's eyes filled with uncertainty.

"I think that George, Bess, and I can be trusted with whatever it is that you're holding inside," Carson continued. "This is your time, Nancy. Your twenties are your time to find yourself, work through things, make mistakes. Don't be afraid to be vulnerable."

Nancy smiled, closed-lipped. "Are you sure you're not a closet social worker, Dad?"

Carson gave Nancy a kiss on her forehead, hoping she couldn't smell the sherry. "Don't ever be ashamed of your work, Nancy. Your mother was a psychology major before she became a spy."


	2. Chapter 2

"So let's hear this romantic reverie one more time," Nancy teased, calculating the tip the following night. It had been a welcome reprieve to spend an evening with a good friend, discussing a cheerful topic. "Take a step back from the stress and remember why you're doing this."

A dreamy, vacant look passed over Bess's features. "There's this one scene from an old Taxi sitcom where Danny Devito explains what love is. He used to be happy sitting on the couch and watching the game by himself, but now he isn't happy unless his girlfriend is sitting on the couch watching the game with him." She shrugged. "A lame explanation, but true. I won't be happy unless Carter is sitting next to me pretty much forever." Bess checked her phone and sent a quick text to her fiancé, then tucked it back into her bag.

Nancy beamed at Bess. "It's good to see you so happy. Now why don't you pull out whichever credit card isn't maxed out, because you're lucky I'm paying for my _own_ cardboard salad, and there's no chance that I'll be paying for yours as well."

"They were pretty lousy, weren't they? Sorry, Nan, but each serving of rabbit food increases our chances of fitting into our dresses." Bess and Nancy headed to the counter to pay, handing their cards to the server. Bess pulled out her phone again.

"Would you put that thing away?" Nancy huffed, reaching over. "And let me remind you again that you're ridiculous. Why are you hiring a makeup woman when your makeup is always perfect? And dying your hair blonde when your hair is _already_ blonde?"

Bess batted her arm away. "It's has to be the right shade. Come on, let go of my phone, I'm not texting this time. Check this out—" she tilted the screen toward Nancy's direction. "I love this red floor-length dress for the bridesmaids, but then I'd have to change some of the other colors around, too. Such a rich version of red wouldn't go with the light purples."

Nancy rolled her eyes as they took their receipts and walked outside to their cars. "I can't believe how things tend to straighten themselves out last-minute for you, Bess. Today is October second, the wedding is October seventeenth, and you don't have bridesmaids dresses picked out yet."

"Stop," Bess whined, and Nancy realized she'd hit a nerve. "You didn't even say what you thought of the dress, and anyway Amazon has a terrific shipping policy."

"Amazon?!"

" _What's wrong with Amazon?"_ Bess shrieked, and a pigeon took flight in terror. "This is how the modern progressive bride does things, and I have everyone's exact sizes so everything should fit everyone perfectly!"

"All right," Nancy conceded, dipping her head beneath her coat collar to hide her smile.

ndndndnd

The following day was a Saturday. Nancy took a deep breath and slowly counted to ten, willing her trepidation to subside. She winced, forcing herself to acknowledge that it was becoming a pattern for her to dread her meetings with Frank Hardy. Was her father right? Should she start keeping her distance, even more than she already did?

"Drew!" Nancy heard a familiar voice call for her from behind, and she squeezed her eyes tightly, taking a final deep breath before opening them and pasting a smile on her face. "Hi, Frank," she said, turning around and returning his full bear hug. Frank held on just a fraction longer than was necessary.

"How are you, Nancy?" Frank asked, pulling back, his voice etched with concern. He looked her up and down, finally settling on a penetrating gaze into her eyes, as if he could read an encrypted message within them. "How have you been, are you okay?" Frank was a head taller than Nancy's 5'6, with wind-blown light brown hair that always formed a gentle wave to his right. The frowning crease between his eyes might almost have been endearing if she hadn't had to see this protective worry every time they'd met for the past year.

"I'm fine, Frank, really," Nancy said, trying to hide the strong trace of irritation in her voice. She turned from him and began to walk, forcing him to catch up to her. "I'm supposed to be the analyst now, remember?"

"Sorry," Frank responded quickly. "I spent the whole ride over here pep-talking myself not to start the same old song and dance, but somehow we already got off on the wrong foot."

Nancy glanced over at him, her small smile now genuine. "I'm sorry too. I guess I'm too sensitive. You're allowed to ask how I'm doing."

Frank squeezed her arm gently. "Let's get back on neutral territory, shall we? Talk to me about whatever it is that you want to talk about."

Nancy motioned for Frank to stop walking, and bent over to pull her hair into a ponytail. "Bess's wedding is coming up soon," she said, her voice muffled.

Frank sighed and put his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shaking his head. "So many changes," he said wistfully. "Nothing ever stays the same. Why this guy, by the way? What makes him The One?"

Nancy stood upright, and they continued their usual walk around the three-mile Wildlife Refuge trail. "In my opinion, I believe he's the one because he's different from the others…faithful, predictable, only says what he really feels. Our Bessie finally realized that those qualities make a good man, not a boring man."

"Good. I don't think I've ever met him, but I'm glad for Bess now that I know you approve." Frank stopped at the bridge railing, leaning into it. "Oh, look at that—an African red-sprouted feather treetrunkbird! You don't see many of those anymore!"

Nancy didn't miss a beat. "And right next to it—a thousand-toothed saberpiranha! Did you bring your field guide and binoculars?"

Frank laughed, and Nancy couldn't help joining in. One of their unsolved mysteries was how this location could still be called a Wildlife Refuge, as the most exotic animals they'd ever seen had been robins and chipmunks.

"So I've been helping with the decorations and such—you know Bess, forever the procrastinator. And she's spent her _whole life_ thinking of the ideal wedding, so everything has to be perfect." Nancy closed her eyes, enjoying the wind rustling past her jeans and light sweather. "So how have you been, Frank? It's been a few weeks since we've seen each other."

Frank took those precious few moments to gaze at her, then lowered his eyes when she opened hers. He could think of a few questions he wanted to ask her, but he didn't want to get in trouble. "I've been well," he said. "You know that Joe and I have been working for several months trying to snag a suspected terrorist group in the act. We think we found one of their hideouts."

Nancy smiled up at him. "Good for you two," she said, and meant it. "The rest of us will have to worry about you, but you're doing a whole lot of good."

Frank's heart skipped a beat to know that she was proud of him. "Thanks," he said, off-kilter despite himself. He hurried on. "It's such meticulous work to try to sort out who's involved with this gang—we have to look at all kinds of records, sort out which one fact might be relevant among thousands—"

Nancy looked at him as he spoke, nodding at the right places. She was always a little startled by the more definite outline of Frank's features, and a change in his skin's texture and complexion. Up until a couple of years ago, he'd looked like a boy, and then suddenly became a young man. A plane soared by overhead, scaring whatever wildlife there might have been. Frank's head started to bob more frequently, as it did when he was excited about something, and the hand gestures would begin any minute now—

"And then I said, forget it, ma'am, spam is belief in the interrelatedness of all things."

"Wow," Nancy said thoughtfully, gazing out at the water.

Frank waited a moment for this to sink in, and, as Nancy still didn't catch on, he tipped her chin toward his direction. "You're not listening, Nan."

Nancy shook herself awake. "Sorry, sorry."

"You used to hang on to every word about every case, ever."

"I said sorry, Frank! Start over this time, I'm listening."

"No."

Nancy abruptly started walking again, the dirt patch muffling her wedge heels. "Why do we have to fight every time we get together?" Nancy asked in exasperation.

Frank caught up and turned her toward him, gripping her elbows. "Because, Nancy, something is not right," he said sharply. "People who are close to each other fight when something's not right, it's healthy, it's a way to get back on track. I don't get it, I'm just not convinced." Nancy looked away, but Frank didn't give up. "Explain it to me again. It does not compute to me how Nancy Drew is no longer interested in detective work. And we sure miss you in karate class."

"You know perfectly well why that is so, and I don't know why you force me to speak of this over and over again," Nancy said with an edge of anger.

"I know the barest of details, and it doesn't add up." Frank ran a hand absentmindedly through the leaves of side bushes as they resumed walking. "I know you lost a colleague on your last mission, and it's always a terrible loss, but you've lost colleagues before. I'm not blowing it off," he added hastily. "I just feel like there's something missing, Nance, and it…it hurts my feelings that you don't think I'm someone you can confide in." He forced himself to meet her eyes, however briefly.

Nancy grimaced, and passed a hand across her forehead. "Frank…" she said, and Frank had never heard her sound so tired. "I don't know what to say to you. I'm not a mystery to figure out. I'm young, I changed careers."

Frank sighed. They walked in silence for a few moments. "I just want to feel like I know you again, like you're happy."

"Social work is not a bad field to be in," Nancy said defensively. "I've told you over and over again that I'm happy with my job."

"It's not just about a job. It's that I feel like I have to get to know you all over again, like I'm meeting a brand new person. I don't see you with that intense concentration anymore, those 'aha' moments when you're cracking a case."

"Frank," Nancy said, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, "people change. Bess is getting married, Joe bought a house, your dad moved up the ladder at work, this is the time in life when people scatter."

Frank studied her warily. "I think what's going on with you is more than that, and I think you know the same thing."

"And I also think," Nancy continued, ignoring the remark, "that you thought you had your life all planned out, and everyone else's, and it's frustrating you that people aren't cooperating."

"Really? And what were my grand plans?"

Nancy didn't respond. She wondered what her own plans had been, and if they had been derailed, and what her new plans would be.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where to, m'lady?" Zane asked in an exaggerated southern drawl, hopping into the crappiest work car on the lot: the 2003 White Malibu. Zane knew that Nancy had pulled into the driveway because the Malibu honked involuntarily every time she changed gears.

Nancy laughed, her spirits lifting just by seeing him. "I thought I was the one driving, pardon me."

Zane put on his seatbelt and cradled his two-liter diet Dr. Pepper, then pulled down the rearview mirror. "Better lookin' every day," he commented to himself.

Nancy laughed. "I guess we're all entitled to one delusion," she teased. "I can't think of anywhere new to go, how about the park again?"

"Fine," Zane shrugged. The Malibu honked again when Nancy put it in drive, and they headed off past the school and back onto the main route.

This was their usual Tuesday afternoon routine. Zane was highly independent and had an advantage over most people with schizophrenia, in that he knew perfectly well that his voices were only hallucinations. The support services contract for the housing program that he lived in stated that he required two hours of staff support each week. Zane knew the bus route by heart and barely went to his scheduled appointments anyway, so he and Nancy tended to just hang out for a couple of hours a week. Sometimes, Nancy admitted to herself, it just felt like a weird kind of date. She always drove, he never had any money, and he frequently talked back to the voices in his head.

Nancy pulled into the park and they headed for the swings.

"So, then, what's your delusion?" Zane asked pleasantly. His salt-and-pepper blonde hair blew in the slight breeze, and he ran his fingers through it to make sure it was unkempt. He would almost be handsome if practiced better hygiene habits and lost a few pounds of belly fat.

Nancy considered, sitting in a swing and lazily using a toe to rock back and forth. "I'd say my delusion…is that I have it all figured out. Everyone can just come to me and ask anything, and I'll be able to help whoever needs it."

"Good one, good one, use your power for good. God, shut up."

"Bad today, huh?" Nancy glanced at Zane sideways, knowing that he wouldn't appreciate sympathetic looks from a woman.

"They haven't shut up for three days, they tell me terrible things about myself, then make me play these stupid rhyming games. God, distract me, do you have any good news? How's your family?"

"My dad's doing well, thanks." Nancy briefly related the generic details of her father's current case, knowing that Zane found the idea of detective work exotic. He had no idea of the exhausting hours, the false leads, the attorneys and red tape.

"Wow," Zane said, not really listening this time. He lit a cigarette but turned his head away from Nancy to breathe out. "So you guys live in a mansion?"

"No, it doesn't pay as great as you'd think. He's salaried, so all his overtime doesn't count. And if he didn't do the overtime, he wouldn't solve the cases in time."

"You've never mentioned your mom. If you don't mind my asking," Zane said, taking a swig from his two-liter and then another puff from his cigarette.

"Not at all. My mom was a spy. She was killed on a mission when I was four." Nancy had always spoken openly about that fact.

Zane paused. "I'm sorry to hear. Is that part of what made you want to work with us mental patients?"

Nancy shrugged. "No. I only have a couple of hazy memories of my mom. I'm here with you today because I wanted to help people."

"That you do, that you do. How was class last week?"

"It was good. The professor took me aside and said how much he liked my essay." Warning bells went off in Nancy's head. She'd heard in class that good workers only self-disclose when it would be helpful for the client, and this entire conversation had been about her. The problem was that, sitting on these swings, they felt more like friends than worker-client.

"Really!" Zane flashed her a grin. "Good for you! What was it about?"

"Edgar Allan Poe. We were supposed to write about what we thought was really going on in the story psychologically."

"Poe? You like all that scary stuff? You must really be looking forward to Halloween in a few weeks. Geeeez, sorry, Nancy, I've got to run!"

And literally run he did, pounding the pavement across the blacktop, one toxic substance in each hand. Nancy stood and watched him. If only this man could leave his voices behind in the wind, like he was trying to do.

Zane touched the fence at the end of the lot and came running back to her, panting at the other end of the playground. He held his too-large stomach and said breathlessly, "So remind me what Poe wrote?"

"He wrote everything, really, from detective stories to satires to his most-famous tales of horror. Tales of imagination, really, there are a hundred ways to read them besides just as scary campfire stories."

"I think I remember Poe from school," Zane said, walking over to the slide and sitting on the bottom. He took a swig and a puff. "Creepy stories about black-haired women, murders, conscience-stricken. The teacher was talking just as much about Poe's personal life as she was about his stories. Everybody in his life died of the same disease."

"Tuburculosis," Nancy said, sitting on a rung in the jungle gym. "Consumption was the word for it in respectable society."

"There's a Poe house in Philadelphia," Zane said thoughtfully. "A museum, or something. I went on a class trip way back in high school, in the dark ages. We walked from the PATCO train station. Look it up on that do-dad you've got."

Nancy pulled out her Smart Phone, typing in a quick Google search. "You're right," she said, her interest piquing. "It's run by the Park Service, part of their historical program or something. There are also Poe houses in Baltimore, Richmond, and the Bronx."

"They probably have something interesting going on there, now that it's October."

"I'll think about it for a weekend trip, thanks for letting me know. And you know, Zane…you ask me about school every time you see me. Even if you just took one class—"

"Stop right there." Zane waved her comment away. "I've made enough mistakes in my life, I already owe thousands of dollars to various people and companies, the last thing I need is to go further in debt for just one class. Do you have any idea how expensive that is?"

"Zane," Nancy pressed on, "I'm not asking you to think long-term, I'm just asking for _one class_. It can be one of those adult education classes that cost $35 for six sessions. Find out if you like something, you're always talking about regrets. You're not too old for anything."

"I'm not sure how we got from Poe to reminding me about my failures," Zane responded crisply, and headed back toward the car.

ndnndnd

Carson Drew had already taken three gulps of his extra-large coffee before he'd left the convenience store, and an extra large swallow before balancing it precariously on the roof of his stone-age station wagon. Nancy was always teasing him about this car, but it served well for his line of business—nobody suspected anything suspicious from the middle-aged guy in the station wagon. He fumbled for his car keys.

"Mr. Drew!"

Carson turned around and forced a smile onto his face, just a little too wide. He shook hands with Frank Hardy. "Good to see you, Frank."

"Likewise, and how have you been?" Frank grinned.

"The usual, up to my ears in a case. The world passes away, you know how it is." Carson found his keys and opened his car door, sending the signal that this would be a short conversation. He took his coffee off the roof.

Frank shifted uncomfortably, hating the lingering feeling of adolescence. They were both men now—he shouldn't feel intimidated because Carson was Nancy's father. "How's Nancy doing?" he asked cautiously.

"She's fine," Carson said curtly.

Frank pressed on, knowing that this man was possibly the only person who knew Nancy better than he did. "I mean, is there…something going on? I want to be there for her, I'll help however I can."

Carson took a step forward, putting Frank off guard. "Nancy is reconsidering a lot of things in her life," he said quietly. Frank met his gaze. "She had a rough time on her last case, you know that. She's taking some time off, looks like she's changing careers, re-assessing some priorities."

Frank decided to make himself vulnerable. "I'm at the point where I don't care if she returns to detective work. Something's not right and I don't think she's happy. Please let me know how you think I can help."

Carson got into his car and pulled the door closed, rolling down the window. "The best thing you can do is give her some space. You remind her of the life she left, Frank. Don't feel like you need to wait for her."

The corners of Frank's mouth tightened, and he leaned his forearm on the top of the car so Carson couldn't pull away. "I'm not sure what happened between you and me since Nancy and Ned split up," he said in a low voice through the car window, firmly but respectfully. "And I'm sorry for whatever it was that I did. Do you really approve of Ned Nickerson more than me? Five years I had to watch them together, and I never made a move."

Carson leaned back in his seat, and suddenly looked years older than his age. "I'm sorry, Frank," he said wearily. "You've never done anything wrong. I'm in protective mode, that's all. I want Nancy to feel free to do whatever she wants to do with her life, not feel locked in to anything, and you're her biggest pull back toward a life that she found traumatizing."

"What really happened on that mission?" Frank said urgently.

Carson shook his head. "I have the same details about the case as you do, Frank," he said. Frank stepped back and watched the other man pull away, thinking that he believed Carson's last sentence, at least.


	4. Chapter 4

Nancy gave up and shut her laptop. "I'm losing my mind, trying to type these service plans. These Medicaid word games are both harder and stupider than anything I had to do in college."

Her colleague Tracy grinned knowingly and returned to her own paperwork. "I know, it's like they want us in here doing paperwork instead of out there helping the people. Don't take Dennis's rules seriously, just turn in your service plans on Friday at 4:00 and they'll get approved right away."

"I heard that," Dennis, the Quality Assurance Reviewer, said to Tracy as he entered the room. "Nancy, can you follow me to my office for a minute, please?"

Nancy followed. _This had better not be another lecture about risk management._

"I got a call from Zane late yesterday afternoon," Dennis said, once he had Nancy cornered. "He didn't sound too good at all. An uncle of his passed away, one that helped raise him. It was pretty sudden."

"Oh, no," Nancy breathed. "He was doing so well, too."

"He said he'll be okay, it's just a shock," Dennis explained. "He said that he could really use some support at the funeral, though. He burned a lot of bridges with his family when he first got sick, and he'll have to see some people that he hasn't seen since he was a kid."

Nancy frowned. "Are you saying that I can go with him? I thought that wasn't billable with Medicaid, it's not a skill building service."

Dennis waved away the suggestion impatiently, as if he had not spent years of his life passionately arguing that exact assertion. "I got an exception for this one, Nancy. The funeral is the day after tomorrow, Friday, October 9th, and the company will pay for your train tickets. The team can cover your other appointments."

"Train tickets? Where's the funeral?" Nancy asked.

"Somewhere in center city Philadelphia, he said you can walk to it from the PATCO line."

Nancy's breath caught. "Excuse me—I mean, thank you, I'll get the details on my own," she managed before stumbling down the hallway. At the first empty office, she entered and shut the door. Dialing nine to get out, she followed it up with seven digits that she'd memorized a long time ago.

"Zane?" she asked cautiously when he picked up.

"Boo-hoo—hoo….mwah-haw-haw…ha-ha-haaa!" Nancy felt slightly disturbed to hear the easy transition he made between fake crying and laughing.

"Mary and _Joseph_!" Nancy hissed, pacing rapidly back and forth. "I can't believe you would _do_ something like this!"

"What? You're saying you think I might be crazy? They gave me that label a long time ago, and now I'll use it to my advantage."

"I mean, what am I supposed to do with this, Zane?" Nancy asked, still overcome with shock. "Dennis is bleeding his heart out all over for you, they cleared my calendar, and they're giving me money for train tickets!"

"Then it sounds like you have a choice to make. You can throw me under the bus, tell them I made the whole thing up to go visit Poe. I could call, say that I decided to go to the funeral on my own. _Or_ …" He didn't have to finish the sentence.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "I still can't believe you did this. They did not tell me in school how to deal with this situation."

"Work on your feet, you've got to meet the crazies where they're at. I don't think the company will go bankrupt to lose you for one day, and, God forbid, it might actually be helpful to my mental health to get out of this hellhole once in a while. New Jersey _sucks_."

Nancy remained silent. She was afraid to admit even to herself that she was considering it.

"Yeah, I thought that deep down you were the risk-taking type," Zane said. "Not that there's much risk. Worst-case scenario, if something goes wrong, you can tell them when we get back that I was fooling you the whole time. Even if I get mad at you later on and throw you under the bus, which is not something I would ever do, who are they going to believe? Staff, or the mental patient?"

Nancy chewed her lower lip.

ndndnd

Nancy couldn't help giggling, still dazed with herself for going along with this.

"Yeah, better looking every day," Zane said, messing up his hair in the PATCO window's reflection. "I wonder if this place will offer me the senior discount."

"Forty-eight is not old, I keep telling you, Zane," Nancy said automatically, knowing he wouldn't listen. "Besides, it's free."

"So how much time do we have? Don't think I did any research. God, shut up, shut up, I'm not talking to you."

"I wouldn't expect you to have done research, I think I know you by now," Nancy grinned. "We'll only have maybe an hour and a half at the Poe house, what with the train transfer and the long walk. What do you want to do about lunch?"

"Hot dog stand." And so they did, Nancy treating of course, paying for overpriced mystery meat at a side vendor. After a thirty-five minute walk through questionable neighborhoods, Nancy stopped mid-step. "It's gorgeous," she breathed.

"Oh, yeah, that bird," Zane said with mock enthusiasm. "Let's take a selfie."

"What, are you cra-?" Nancy stopped herself just in time. "There will be absolutely no evidence of this day! We should probably print a fake funeral bulletin, too."

"Have it your way." Zane pretended to snap a picture as Nancy hugged a very large bronze statue of the famous Raven.

"Look at this, I love it," Nancy squealed, entering the Poe house. "Such an ordinary historical house, although they did have to remodel a lot of it."

"Perfect timing," a park ranger said cheerfully to the two of them. "I'm just giving an orientation to all the others that are here."

Nancy looked at Zane, and he shook his head. Crowds and sitting still tended to make his voices louder.

"That's all right, thanks though," Nancy said, taking a laminated map from the front counter. "We'll have the place to ourselves while we go exploring, Zane."

They started with the basement first, Nancy barely covering her mouth before she screamed. There, hidden behind stones in the fireplace, was a stuffed version of the infamous cat from Poe's appropriately named short story, "The Black Cat."

Zane laughed at her. "Good one."

Nancy laughed at herself too, then they headed up the stairs to the sparsely-furnished bedrooms. "That story is about guilt catching up to a murderer, unless it's read literally," she said. "Oh, look at this. Just imagine Poe writing stories, right here in this room. It says here that he might not have been able to sleep in bed with his wife, since her tuberculosis was already advanced by the time they lived here."

Zane shook his head. "Life is too hard," he muttered. "I wonder sometimes if this is another planet's hell, like maybe all us bad people died and had to come here." He appeared to be distracted.

Nancy looked at him sadly, but he was gazing out the window. She wished that she had the power to heal him of the struggle he went through every day. "Poe would have loved to make a story out of that idea," she said, and they headed up another set of stairs.

"They think that this was his mother-in-law's room," Nancy said, more to herself but also to Zane in case he was interested. "That woman had an awful lot on her shoulders, what with her daughter's TB and her son-in-law-slash-nephew always tortured over his writing, living in poverty. She may have been the glue that held them together. Edgar married his thirteen-year-old cousin when he was twenty-six."

"Daaaaaaamn."

"A bit more socially acceptable back then, but they still wouldn't have wanted to advertise that fact," Nancy said. She heard a sound and looked up from what she was reading. Zane had begun to pace. "Oh, no, Zane, we've got to get out of here."

"Correction: _I've_ got to get out of here," Zane said, agitated. "I've got to get outside and cuss out these damn voices, but they will not ruin our day. Come out when you're ready, I want you to have a good time."

"Well, I think we've seen most of it anyway," Nancy said as the stairway down left them off by the entrance. She saw a room labeled Reading Room on the right-hand side.

Zane noticed her glance. "Go in there and have fun. Meet me out front."

"Wait," Nancy said. She handed him her cell phone. "Put this up to your ear. Then people will just think you're having an argument."

"Good idea, thanks, sweetie." Zane took it and walked quickly away.

Nancy knew that she should only stay a few minutes. Heading through the doorway and down a few stairs, she entered a room that immediately softened her mood. The old-fashioned furniture and earth-toned lighting combined to create a nostalgic feeling, not too ostentatious. A booklet of Poe's poems and correspondences lay on the table in the center, and Vincent Price's soft, haunting voice wafted toward her from a CD player in the corner.

"I was a child, and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than a love…a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher In this kingdom by the sea."

Nancy's breathing became shallower. She sat at the table of poems, opening it randomly.

 _See on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! Let the burial rite be read—the funeral song be sung!—An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young—A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young._

Nancy heard a ringing in her ears. The soothing red hue to the room now appeared sinister to her, the color of blood, the bewitching voice from the CD player now grating to her nerves. Frantically she turned the page and covered her ears, but the words on the next yellowing page only seemed to grow larger and larger.

Nevermore….Nevermore…NEVERMORE….

ndndnd

The next thing that Nancy was aware of was a sickly yellow room. She forced down her alarm at waking up in a strange place, plus her shortage of memories on how she got there, and then gasped in realization.

"Oh, no," she moaned. "Oh, no."

Seeing that she was awake, an aide walked into the room. "Remember how you got here?"

"Not the details, but the basics, yes," Nancy said, panicking. "The man I was with, is he okay? Is he okay? What day is today, anyway?"

He held up his hands. "You got here yesterday, miss, that's all I know. Today is Saturday, October 10th, 2015."

 _Thanks for assuming that I don't know the year._ Nancy breezed past him in her hospital gown and no-slip hospital socks, making a beeline for the nurse's station. "The man I was with, where is he?"

"That was yesterday's shift, we're the weekend crew now, but there is a man who's been calling for you. Does this look familiar?" The nurse held up a note with Zane's name and phone number.

Nancy took the paper with relief, but still felt guilt and trepidation. After receiving permission to use the phone, Nancy dialed in record speed.

"Nancy, are you okay?" Zane's voice came in clearly.

"I'm fine, yes, sometimes these kinds of things happen to me and I'm fine later, but what about you? Zane, I'm so sorry. And to think that we thought _you_ were the one who was doing poorly. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop it, Nancy. I've been in the mental health system for thirty-three years, and I know when somebody needs time to cool off. One of the park rangers came and got me, said that you were standing in the middle of that reading room totally unresponsive. You followed me when I took your arm, though, and you let me walk you out of that Poe house while we waited for an ambulance. The pricks didn't even want to take you at first, but they had to when you were still completely out of it."

Nancy leaned against the nurse's counter, pinching the bridge of her nose. How could she have put a client through this? How could she expect Zane to keep secrets for her? How stupid, how irresponsible. "Thanks, Zane, and I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have to do that for your staff, how messed up."

"Stop beating yourself up, it was my idea to go. I left your phone and my information with the ambulance guys because I couldn't go with you, I had to use that train ticket to get back home myself or I would have been stranded. I called Dennis and told him that the funeral went fine, but that you had to go right home from there because of a family emergency."

Nancy paused, not trusting herself to hope. Was there some way that she could move past this? Could she keep her job?

"The hospital drill is always the same," Zane continued. "They only have to give you 48 hours to cool down, and then you have to pass the verbal test. Tell them that you're fine now, detailed reasons you have in your life to get better, like family and pets and school and whatever. When they ask if you want to hurt yourself or anyone else, look at them like they have ten heads, like you've never thought about it before in your life. They don't want to keep you any more than you want to be there."

"Thanks, Zane." Nancy didn't tell him that, unfortunately, she knew the drill quite well already. "Good trip, huh?"

"I had fun if you had fun, young lady. And don't worry, you don't have to tell me what happened in there. I'll see you next Tuesday and we'll act like nothing ever happened."


	5. Chapter 5

Laura Hardy's mouth hung slightly open the following morning, her eyes opened wide to apply mascara. She looked younger than her fifty-three years, but not young enough to leave the house without makeup on. She blinked rapidly and put her earrings in, then searched around her dresser for the matching necklace. It had one of those new, tiny clasps that irritated her. "Fenton?" she called. "Can you help me put this necklace on?"

Fenton emerged from the bathroom, adjusting his tie. Even with graying hair and deepening facial wrinkles, he was still a commanding presence, standing 6'3 with an assertive posture. "I'm glad you're still wearing this one so much, I searched so hard for the perfect anniversary present," he said, towering behind her in front of the mirror. Laura held her shoulder-length blonde hair to one side so her husband could see what he was doing. Successfully attaching the ends of the necklace, Fenton attached his hands around her waist as well, kissing the right side of her neck. "You look fabulous," he murmured into her ear. "Let's take the day off and get back in bed."

Laura bristled, and Fenton knew that he had struck out. "Fenton, when you got promoted to Internal Affairs, it was the first time in our _entire_ lives that you finally worked regular business hours. We agreed that we would use these years to spend time together, make up for lost vacations, maybe take up a hobby. I certainly do _not_ want to be put into the position of the wife dragging her husband to church."

Fenton stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. "Just a playful comment, I'm sorry." Laura turned from him, gathering her purse and the envelope for the offering, avoiding his eyes.

Sighing, Fenton took his suit jacket from its peg, and handed Laura her coat. Suddenly he caught sight of the calendar on the bedside table, and his eyes widened. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Fenton said, pulling in his wife for an embrace. "It's that time of year again. I'm being insensitive, I can't believe I didn't realize. You can't blame yourself, love. I'm a fool. I am a fool. You know perfectly well that this is all my fault."

Laura accepted the hug, but pulled out after a short moment. "This isn't the signal to beat yourself up, dear. This is just something we have to live with, and it's more acutely painful for me at the change of the seasons. Just sit with me, just be with me today, okay?"

"Anything, darling," Fenton breathed, kissing her forehead.

Twenty minutes later, Fenton and Laura were walking down the sidewalk and into the church vestibule, arm in arm. Fenton had a tighter hold than was necessary, and Laura knew that he was trying to draw strength from her. She felt a rush of compassion toward this man that she had been married to for over three decades.

"Thank you, good morning, God bless," Fenton said awkwardly, accepting the bulletin from a smiling young man with slightly too much starch in his shirt. Fenton stopped to shake hands with several parishioners, Laura politely smiling by his side, knowing that not too much would be expected of his wife, the accessory. She guided Fenton toward an empty row.

"I know this isn't your cup of tea, dear," Laura whispered before the service began. "I know you're here because of me, and I appreciate it."

Fenton smiled tightly at her in gratitude. He was used to interrogations and cutthroat lawyers, not this too-happy world of people expected to be in a good mood under all circumstances every week. He did want his wife to be happy, though, and he would play the part for her.

Laura closed her eyes, listening to the organ music and praying in short, clipped sentences. She held the hymn book open for her and her husband, singing all the words of her childhood, and jotted down notes of items needed for the upcoming bake sales. If there was anything Laura Hardy was good at, it was bake sales.

"Please turn to Second Samuel 12:1-10 for the Old Testament Lesson." The attendant cleared his voice and began to read, his strong baritone ringing throughout the sanctuary.

" **So the** **Lord** **sent Nathan to David. Nathan came to him and said, "There were two men in a certain city. One was rich, and the other was poor.** **The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cows,** **but the poor man had only one little female lamb that he had bought. He raised her, and she grew up in his home with his children. She would eat his food and drink from his cup. She rested in his arms and was like a daughter.**

" **Now, a visitor came to the rich man. The rich man thought it would be a pity to take one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler. So he took the poor man's lamb and prepared her for the traveler."**

Fenton felt his wife begin to tremble underneath his arm.

 **David burned with anger against the man. "I solemnly swear, as the** **Lord** **lives," he said to Nathan, "the man who did this certainly deserves to die!** **And he must pay back four times the price of the lamb because he did this and had no pity."**

"Let's leave," Fenton whispered urgently to his wife. "For God's sake, let's get out of here."

"No," Laura said, her voice steel.

" **You are the man!" Nathan told David. "This is what the** **Lord** **God of Israel says: I anointed you king over Israel and rescued you from Saul.** **I gave you your master Saul's house and his wives. I gave you the house of Israel and Judah. And if this weren't enough, I would have given you even more.** **Why did you despise my word by doing what I considered evil? You had Uriah the Hittite killed in battle. You took his wife as your wife. You used the Ammonites to kill him.** **So warfare will never leave your house because you despised me and took the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife."**

A soft cry escaped from Laura's lips, and she fled from the sanctuary and into the fresh air outside of the church.

ndndnd

Bess looked around her, wide-eyed and fearful, as Nancy watched her get buzzed in to the locked ward that Sunday evening. Fortunately, Nancy had already been permitted to dress, so Bess wouldn't have to see Nancy wandering shoeless in a hospital gown like the other short-term patients.

"Signing out Nancy Drew," Bess said shakily to the nurse at the desk, and Nancy caught her eye, meeting her at the center station.

"Will you be making sure that she takes her medication for at least the next few days?" the nurse asked, pulling out Nancy's discharge paperwork.

Bess looked at Nancy in shock. "I'm fine, thanks, I manage my own meds," Nancy said shortly to the nurse. "Where can we sign?"

Nancy and Bess pretended to listen to the nurse's discharge instructions before hurrying towards the doors. The nurse unlocked the door again and handed Nancy a copy of her clinical summary and discharge papers, and the entire hospital ward could hear a loud ringing until the doors closed and locked once more.

"Oh, my god, Nancy," Bess breathed, pulling Nancy in for a quick hug. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think. Sorry about this, I'm not sure what happened myself, I blacked out or something. Zane sure was right, he told me the exact words to say to make them release me. Scary."

"Who's Zane?"

"A client of mine."

Bess stopped immediately, and Nancy turned back toward her. "Are you safe to leave this hospital, Nancy?" Bess asked sharply, and purposefully loud. A couple of people glanced at them as they walked past in the hallway. "Is there anything you're not telling the hospital staff? That's pretty messed up if you're just using me as a way to get out of here, and then I have to live with the guilt if something happens."

"No—no, Bess, I swear, I'm okay! I dissociated or something!" Nancy insisted, horrified to see this reaction in her friend. She understood now the painful way in which her clients had lost friends when they'd become sick.

Bess grabbed Nancy's hand and walked so quickly to get out of the hospital that Nancy had to almost jog to keep up. Bess didn't speak again until they were in the safety of Bess's car, the engine running and the windows rolled down. Bess lit a cigarette and fishtailed the car in her haste to get out of the parking lot, heading for the highway. "I _know_ you can't lecture me about smoking right now, after tonight," Bess said, not even bothering to turn her head to exhale. "I am trying to be the supportive friend right now, Nancy, but I just never envisioned having to pick you up from a place like that. How can you put this on my shoulders when I am getting married in _six days_?"

"I'm sorry, Bess, and really, all I need is a ride," Nancy pleaded, feeling guilty.

"Oh my god, I know why it was me—you have no one else to call."

Nancy gaped at her in shock, realizing that she was right. Her eyes filled with tears. "You're right, Bess," she whispered. "My dad would just freak out all over again, George moved, Ned is deployed not that I would ever call him anyway after our breakup last year, which he took _so_ much worse than I thought he would…God, I miss Hannah. Rest in peace."

Bess turned toward Nancy briefly, squeezing her hand. "I'm sorry, Nancy, I shouldn't have said that. What I _meant_ , and the name that you _should_ be bringing up in that list, is—"

"No, no," Nancy moaned, drying her eyes. "I was discharged from the psych ward five minutes ago, please have mercy, we can't get into that now."

"How many more visits to that hellhole do you need, Nancy?" Bess asked, gesturing back toward the hospital's direction. "I love you, but I can't give you the help you need with this. You need to tell Frank."

"And relive everything every time I look into his wounded eyes? Please let's just get to your house, I need a shower," Nancy said nervously, her chattering teeth having nothing to do with the cold. "It's not my goal to be a burden to you. We will only talk about pleasant things. The night is young, I was hoping we could go to your house and work on wedding stuff. All I need is a distraction. Don't tell your parents where I just was."

"My parents are out for the weekend anyway," Bess said, paying the toll and leaning her head out the window to merge. "You can stay the night, and come up with something to tell your father about the last few days. You sure you're up for wedding stuff? Do you need to stop somewhere, get anything?"

"No, all I need is you and your house tonight," Nancy responded gratefully. "I'll be fine for work in the morning." Ten minutes later the two women pulled into Bess's driveway. Nancy dumped her hospital bag on the couch and threw her discharge papers on the floor in disgust.

ndndnd

The next afternoon, Frank just kept ringing the doorbell. He knew that Bess was home because her car was in the driveway.

Finally Bess showed up at the door with the phone balanced between her ear and shoulder. "I'll call you back, honey, love you," she said, and hung up the phone. She looked warily at Frank. "Come in," she decided.

Frank stepped into the living room, his analytic eye sweeping the room. Wedding paraphernalia was everywhere, ribbons draped over half-folded boxes, lantern centerpieces next to the tissue paper that would decorate the inside. And a packet of official-looking papers with the initials "ND" on the envelope.

Frank inhaled sharply, and forced himself to turn away from the packet. "Bess, you're obviously stressed. I'll get to the point. We both know why I'm here."

Bess crossed her arms, leaning against the living room bookshelf. "I can't play the go-between with you and Nancy, Frank. It puts us all in a bad spot, messages might get mixed, and it wouldn't work anyway."

"But you've got to understand that I'm at the end of my rope. I'm not going to give up and go away. Nancy knows that, we're detectives, we have to get to the bottom of things." Frank backed up slowly toward the packet. He thought of asking for a drink of water, but that would only get Bess's guard up.

"I understand that, and believe me I've tried to get Nancy to talk to you more, nevertheless I am not a suspect to be interrogated. I am Nancy's friend first, Frank."

Frank sighed, and massaged his temples. _Forgive me, Bess,_ he thought, as he exaggeratedly plopped himself onto her couch, one leg bumping into the coffee table as he sat down. Bess's carefully arranged stack of name cards for the seating chart tumbled in a wide arc across the carpet.

"Oh, no," Bess moaned, dropping to her knees to begin collecting them.

"I'm so sorry," Frank said with just right amount of remorse, crouching farther away from her to help. He grabbed the packet and dipped behind the end of the sofa, swiftly tucking it inside his belt in the back, covering it with his shirt. "Let me help pick them up," he offered, picking up the name cards that had fallen farthest from the coffee table.

"You've done enough," the frazzled fiancé snapped toward his general direction, exactly the response Frank was hoping for. "Honestly, what is it with men? Please leave, Frank, I am quite busy."

"Bess, I feel bad, let me—"

"No!" Bess said firmly. Frank stood up obediently. "Oh, and Frank—"

Frank turned toward her expectantly. Bess had hung around detectives her whole life—could she see right through him?

Bess looked toward him seriously. "Do not make me regret inviting you to my wedding. I don't want any drama between you and Nancy on Saturday."

Frank crossed himself. "Cross myself and hope to die, Bess. I'm very happy for you and I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your special day."

"I'll take you at your word. I'm sure you can show yourself out." Bess continued cleaning up.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks so much to the readers who keep reviewing with every update. You guys keep me posting. A few of your questions will finally be answered in this chapter.

ndndnd

Nancy walked quickly through the hallways at work, head down, silent during morning meeting. She felt like her weekend adventure was written all over her face. She forced down tears when Dennis asked her to speak to him in his office.

Dennis quietly shut the door and they both sat down. "You know you'll have to be written up for not coming back on Friday," he began. "Whatever your family emergency was, you should have called it in rather than having a client call it in for you."

Nancy's cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I know…I'm sorry."

Dennis assessed her intently. "Nancy, I don't need to remind you that because of your unique hiring situation, the supervisors around here are going to be watching you more intently than your coworkers."

"I know, Dennis, and I'm sorry," Nancy said genuinely, giving him a pleading look. "This job is just what I need right now, though, and I think I can help people. I can handle it, I just…had a bad day."

Dennis nodded. "I know that you can handle it, and it would be a terrible loss if we lost you. I want you to take a look at this material." Dennis pushed a small folder across the desk toward her. "It's called a WRAP plan, Wellness and Recovery Action Plan. It helps you organize your own thoughts and plan, and you don't need anyone else's help to do it. It has a section on listing the coping skills that work for you, what your triggers are, a daily routine to stick with no matter what, and what your unique emergency plan should be."

Nancy nodded, taking the packet gratefully. "I'll try this."

Dennis stopped her from leaving. "I don't think anyone besides me is wondering whether anything out of the ordinary happened on Friday, and I'll pull for you if I hear your name brought up in any meetings. But you have to work on getting better, and make sure to think of your clients first."

Nancy couldn't resist giving Dennis a brief hug on the way out the door. She would never think of Dennis as useless person again.

ndndnd

Frank pulled out of Bess's driveway and down the street, pulling over abruptly as soon as he was out of sight of Bess's house. He reached behind him and pulled the packet out of his back. "Sorry, Nancy," he mumbled. "I can't believe our relationship has come to this."

He scanned the first page, the diagnosis leaping out at him.

"Jesus God," he swore to himself.

He continued reading. He turned to page two.

Then Frank dug his fingers into his hair and yelled until he was hoarse.

ndndnd

"Thanks, Heather," Carson said, smiling at the receptionist as she dropped off the consolidation scan of evidence that he'd asked for. He checked his watch: 7:30. "Doesn't a pretty girl like you have some place to be, someone to be with at 7:30 on a Monday?"

Heather's smile lingered on her face, a bit less naturally. Carson realized that he'd hit the nail on the head.

"You're only young once," he told her. "Your work will be waiting for you tomorrow, I promise. Get out of here, go home and take a bath even if nothing else."

Heather nodded politely and left. Carson hoped she'd take his advice, but knew that she probably wouldn't. He wondered what his own life would be like if he hadn't automatically put his career on the front burner, whether he was stressed, happy, or insecure. Why wasn't _he_ at the movies, or a social event, or, God forbid, a date? Why wasn't he at home at 7:30 on a Monday, spending time with a daughter who needed him? He didn't for a second believe the jilted excuse Nancy had given him about where she'd been all weekend. He also felt horribly guilty that he'd worked such long hours that he hadn't even known she was missing until she called Sunday night to apologize.

Looking at the scans, he reminded himself of why he was still at work. All these drug-dealing creeps out there, all the pain they caused. Let the justice system deal with them afterward, but for his part, he'd serve them up on a silver platter with as much evidence as he could muster.

Carson was just finishing posting the scans onto his bulletin board when his desk phone rang. He frowned, surprised. It was way past business hours.

Cautiously, Carson lifted the receiver to his ear. "Carson Drew."

There was a slight pause at the other end. "Good evening, Drew. It's Fenton."

Carson sucked in a sharp breath and sat down abruptly.

"All I need is a minute, please, Carson. Just a minute," Fenton rushed on.

"All right, you've got it," Carson said tightly.

"Frank would kill me if he knew I was calling you. I heard him mentioning to Joe that you and he had a talk the other day, that you didn't seem too keen on him spending a lot of time with Nancy these days."

"Yes, he and I did have a talk. Both being grown men, I assumed that the talk would stay between us," Carson responded sarcastically.

"Carson…we both know that Frank's been crazy about Nancy since the day they met at college. If he's going to be turned down after all these years, please, I'm just asking that it be Nancy's decision. Let it come from her, and let it come naturally."

"And that's exactly what I said to your son," Carson answered succinctly. "If he'd let her breathe for half a minute, maybe she can take some time for herself and figure out what she wants."

"Okay, you're right. I'll speak to Frank about it."

"I'm glad we're on the same page." Carson held his breath, determined that the other man would be the one to speak next.

He heard Fenton's breathing on the other line. "Let's not let our past affect the kids, I'm begging you, Drew."

Carson Drew opened his mouth, then closed it. Shaking with anger, his vision blurred, he forced himself not to say the many things that he was tempted to say. "I'm hearing you, Hardy, that's all I can say right now."

"Thank you, that's all I was hoping for. Thanks so much for your time, Carson."

Carson slammed the phone into the receiver, hugging himself in an effort not to punch his office window.

ndndnd

Nancy went straight to the gym after work, skipping dinner. Too restless to concentrate on anything else, she lifted weights for a half hour, then burned off steam at the hour-long CardioFit class. By the time she was finished, she ran straight into the chilly twilight, grateful for its instant cooling effect on her sweaty skin.

"Simmer down, Drew," Nancy muttered, wiping her face, shouldering her pack. She unlocked her car with the remote. Then she stood still, the hair on her neck standing up.

"Who's there?" she whispered urgently. She glanced back toward the lights from the gym. She could hold her own with karate moves, but like any other mortal was helpless against a gun.

An unsteady figure emerged from his car, stumbling towards her.

Nancy peered into the darkness, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Frank?" she asked in disbelief.

"The very same," Frank said, a strong undercurrent of emotion in his voice. "You're going to talk to me, Nancy. I have a right this time."

"Are you drunk?" Nancy asked sharply.

"No, but it doesn't sound like such a bad idea right about now." Frank lifted up a large envelope.

Nancy's heart sank and froze at the same time. It was her discharge papers from the hospital, the useless instructions that she hadn't given a second thought to after she'd dropped them at Bess's. "How did you get those?" she asked in resignation.

"I gave Bess a visit and saw them among all that wedding stuff. I distracted her and grabbed it."

Nancy suddenly felt tired from her workout, not invigorated. She shrugged. "Is it really that big of a surprise, Frank?" she asked wearily. "You're always asking if I'm depressed. How did you think I got this social work job with no prior experience? They call me a case manager to be nice. I'm actually a Peer Support Specialist, meaning that I have a mental health diagnosis myself. It takes one to know one, or so they say."

Frank filed this less-than-stellar information in his head for later. "I'm sorry to hear that, Nancy, and I wish I you'd let me support you from the beginning with that. But actually what I'm talking about is in the clinical summary section."

"My vital signs?" Nancy asked. Frank handed her the envelope, pulling out the relevant page.

Nancy turned on the small flashlight she kept on her key ring, frowning as she followed where Frank was pointing. She sagged against her car and covered her face with her hands.

After the blood pressure reading and before the qualitative statements, there was the simple line "Pregnancies: One, by history. One year ago. Miscarriage."

ndndnd

Ten minutes later, Frank and Nancy sat in Frank's car, looking out from the parking lot at the milky blackness of the Wildlife Refuge. Nancy had asked to ride in silence to gather her thoughts, but her stomach was just as churned now as it was in the gym parking lot.

Frank turned to look at her, still wild-eyed. Nancy stared straight ahead.

"Forgive me, Nancy," Frank began, "but I have to know right now, before everything—Nickerson—"

Nancy shook her ahead slowly. "No. She was yours, Frank."

Frank exhaled sharply, and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He leaned forward, covering his face in his hands. "And you just weren't going to tell me," he said angrily, his voice muffled. He'd sworn to himself that he would allow her to speak first, but this was quite a shock.

"I'm sorry, Frank," Nancy said, and meant it. She felt like she'd done nothing but apologize to him for the past year.

Frank stayed in his position for several moments, allowing himself to feel every emotion in fast forward: surprise at the unexpected news, joy at bringing a baby into the world with Nancy, loss at his daughter's death, betrayal that Nancy had chosen to walk this path alone. He shook with repressed energy, wanting to fold in on himself yet run a mile at the same time.

Finally he sat up and faced Nancy. "Look at me, Nancy," he said, his voice hard. Nancy returned his gaze and cowered slightly at the intensity in his eyes. "Look at me," Frank said again, more gently this time, "and tell me everything about this miscarriage. I mean it, Nancy. It had better be _everything_."

Nancy took a deep breath. She knew that he deserved that much and more. "You know that after our night together, I left in the morning for the undercover job in Paris. It was a drug bust, which as you know is never my favorite type of assignment, but I had recently started taking cases with my father, who wanted to take this international gang down so badly that we worked together with Parisian police. It took a few painstaking months to uncover the perpetrators, then another several weeks to gather enough evidence for conviction, and honestly, I'm surprised it didn't take longer."

Frank remembered Nancy giving these details when she'd first returned to the states, but he remained silent.

"A very large gang was involved, and I agreed to be used as bait to round up everyone at once." Frank clenched his jaw. "If the police had immediately started with arrests, then most of the gang would have gone into hiding as soon as they heard. We had plenty of officers, but there was of course an element of risk, and once they found out I was the mole, they weren't too happy with me. One man jumped on top of me, and another delivered a vicious kick under my ribs, right in the vulnerable zone not protected by the bullet-proof vest."

Frank's hand immediately gripped Nancy's. Nancy didn't return the embrace, but allowed Frank's hand to remain where it was.

"My backup officers immediately took charge, and a colleague was shot to death during the scuffle. I used that death as my excuse to leave detective work, but now you know the real reason. Most of the criminals realized that they were beaten and gave up instantly. Through the agonizing pain, I remember thinking that it could have gone much worse." Nancy gave a brief, mirthless laugh that sent a chill up Frank's spine.

"I was bleeding pretty heavily, and they rushed me to the hospital. I heard the word "hemorrhaging" as I began to lose consciousness from blood loss. I heard one medical person say to another that I had lost the baby. My eyes flew open and I screamed, flailing my arms, dislodging my stitches, and they had to give me an injection to knock me out. Frank, I was over three months pregnant and I didn't even know."

With no warning, Nancy opened the car door and vomited outside. Her stomach empty, it was mostly dry heaves, but her stomach made it clear that it was not emotionally capable of containing anything.

Nancy closed the door and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, too distracted to care. Frank spotted tears out of the corners of her eyes, and fought to resist the urge to take her into his arms. Nancy's body language would let him know if that was allowed.

"Frank…" Nancy took a deep, shuddering breath. "I _was_ on birth control, I didn't lie to you, but I guess I must have missed my pill more days than I'd realized. And in that one moment, I found out that I was a mother, and then that I wasn't a mother after all. I was so used to ignoring my body, I had never noticed that I was sharing it with another life form. The headaches, occasional throwing up, weight gain—that's just stress, right? The body must be subdued. Working comes first." Nancy's eyes widened in disbelief of her own actions. "How stupid. How stupid."

Frank digested all this information, rounding the bases on the five stages of grief. Emotions jarred inside him, vying for dominance. He fought to concentrate on Nancy's need, but he also needed to know. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Nancy leaned into him and Frank gratefully wrapped his arms around her, cursing the car console between them. Nevertheless, her eyes were far off, not truly present with him. "I only told Bess and George. And my dad is the only person who knows the details about my mental illness, but he doesn't know about the miscarriage. Frank, I'm sorry, don't be upset, but it seems like such a personal loss. The man doesn't carry the child. She shared a body only with me."

"I remember you and me sharing a body as well," Frank said quietly.

Nancy shrugged off his comment. "I hope you can understand, Frank. She was _in_ me, and then she wasn't. _My_ choices ended her life, my messed up priorities. And since she was your child, you have the right to be angry too."

"You didn't kill her, you had no idea," Frank said passionately, now with a hand on the back of her neck. "Nancy, I'm so glad that now we can share the load, we can be in this together."

"Okay, Frank."

"Do you believe anything I'm saying?" Frank asked, frustrated. "I just found out I lost a _child_! Would your father have a right to grieve if he lost you?"

Finally Nancy looked at Frank, their faces almost touching, and at last he felt as if she were present with him, here and now. For however briefly that her current mood lasted.


	7. Chapter 7

Professor Ridlan was tinkering with technology, a frown of embarrassed confusion on his face, when Nancy arrived early at class that Thursday evening. She was able to make it through her boring (and easy, for her) afternoon research class by looking forward to Ridlan's evening class, "Human Behavior in the Social Environment." At this rate of only two classes per semester, it would take her at least four years to get her Master's, but she and her father had agreed that (for the first time in her life) she would take things slowly.

Nancy walked to the TV, sorting the three remotes. "It's crazy, how these old systems make you juggle all these remotes," she said. "The DVD player is working just fine, you just have to switch the source to AV." She found the correct button and pressed it twice. The screen lit up.

"Thanks," Ridlan said, smiling at her. Then, in a lower voice, "Did you think about what I said, Nancy? Does it make sense?"

"It makes sense, yes." Nancy swallowed. "Other people in my life are saying the same thing. But it's hard not to get too caught up in emotions, too…it's been…quite a week."

Ridlan peered at her. "It's a balance, yes. We are emotional creatures, stuck in a more and more mechanized world, deadlines, red tape…hence the need for this class, trying to sort out how much to repress and how much to embrace our humanity. Sometimes we need to swallow emotions to get the job done and pay the bills, and other times…intellectualizing problems is sometimes a form of repressing as well. Emotions demand to be felt, Nancy. We can deal with them straightforwardly, or they can burst through at inopportune times. It's up to us."

Nancy's face burned as she gaped at him. Could he see straight through her?

Her professor laughed. "I am a consultant too, Nancy, that's how I got this job. I look forward to reading your next homework assignment. I hope you enjoy the video." He gestured for her to take a seat.

A few minutes later, Professor Ridlan called the class to order. "Very little preamble today, folks. We will be seeing an excellent video on the impact of family secrets. Now, the main point that I want you to take from this video is this: human beings are _nothing if not adaptable_. For those of you who are working toward becoming therapists, I want you to remember this about families: people pick up different behavior dysfunctions along the way for a reason. The only human beings who breathe relaxed, deeply, and fully, are _babies_. We pick up stress along the way. This video is the reason why our profession is infamous for asking questions about people's childhoods. Your job as a social worker is to show people that, even though they may have been forced to deal with dysfunctions earlier in life, situations change and those same behaviors that worked for them earlier are now holding them back. There is hope that, with patience and support, thoughts and behaviors can change." Ridlan pressed play.

Nancy opened her notebook, tuning out some of the introductory comments. She knew more than most of her fellow students just how many skeletons there were in most people's closets. After some of the things she'd seen, it made sense that she was wary when first meeting people. However, as a specialist, it was also her job to provide the hope that her professor had been talking about.

"Shame is a powerful motive for keeping secrets. Some of the things that families keep secrets about are divorce, mental illness, sexual issues, parentage, substance addiction, and job loss."

Nancy realized with a jolt that this class was no longer an intellectual exercise. Her life now fit into a few of those categories. _But am I really keeping secrets?_ she asked herself, offended by the concept. _Is it really everybody's right to know my personal business? Sympathetic looks in the grocery store, amateur psychologists giving me advice?_

"Secrets and lies lead to more secrets and lies," the video continued. "Family secrets have consequences beyond what was ever intended. For example, family members, extremely ashamed of mental illness within the family, can create a tradition of poor or twisted communication to hide themselves and others from the truth. It can be a very big relief to have family secrets finally out in the open."

Nancy took notes, succinctly in the shorthand she'd used over the years.

"Maintaining family secrets can form a bond between some family members, but exclude those that are not privy to the secret. Lies upon lies need to be told simply to maintain the secret, with angry refutations if the excluded member makes an observation that is too close to the truth. Children are quick to pick up on nonverbal cues and facial expressions, yet if they ask for an explanation and are given none, they will question their own interpretation of reality. Therefore they learn to rely on others' misrepresentations for their own sense of reality. This carries over into generations and possibly other families as the children marry and keep secrets from their spouses. None of this is harmless since many individuals from these families experience depression and physical or somatic symptoms including, very rarely, dissociations."

Nancy sighed. Too close, too close to home. At least her father had never kept a secret from her.

Twenty minutes later, Professor Ridlan glanced at the clock. "We'll have to stop there," he announced, pausing the DVD. "Now, for the next assignment due, I do _not_ —I repeat, I do _not_ —want an analysis of your own family. This is class, not therapy, and I don't want this assignment to hit too close to home, pun intended. I want you to take an historical figure, or generation, and make a case for how the principles of today's video come into play, and the consequences of possible secrets. I'm more interested in the analysis than the facts. Now, on your way out the door, please write whatever phone number I can best reach you at on a piece of paper, and program my number on the syllabus into your phones. The weather is getting colder and I want to be able to reach you all if class is ever cancelled." Professor Ridlan dismissed the class.

On the train ride home that night, Nancy thought of her upcoming tight schedule. She'd taken tomorrow off from work to help with final preparations for Bess's wedding, and the rehearsal dinner that night. Saturday was the wedding, and she'd have to do some overtime at work next week to catch up on clients and paperwork—the last thing she needed at work was tongue-wagging that she couldn't handle the pressure.

Nancy would have to write about an historical figure that she was already familiar with.

ndndnd

"Does anybody have any damn questions?" Bess snapped, almost twisting her ankle as her four-inch heel caught on the side of a carpet. "The coordinator is leaving now, seriously, people, you'd better know what you're doing tomorrow!"

"What an adorable Bridezilla, our baby all grown up," Joe Hardy teased, earning himself a disdainful look from Carter, Bess's future husband. Carter and Bess had agreed that they would each choose one person from the opposite sex to be in the wedding party, and Bess had chosen Joe. There had been talk years ago of Joe and Bess possibly having a future together, but it turned out that their hopeless flirting was simply the kind that they did with everyone. Everyone had been shocked that Joe was the first to settle down, and now Bess was the second.

"Joseph, you haven't even seen the beginning," Bess growled, waving goodbye to the wedding coordinator. "Everybody sit at these tables over here after you get your food, they're bringing out the catering."

Nancy helped herself to the buffet-style dinner. She took a seat by the window, enjoying the luscious view of the country club's landscape, strategically placed flora blending with the watercolors of the setting sun. She desperately wanted to catch up with George, but that would have to wait until later. Others were vying for George's attention, since these days she only came home for Christmas and special occasions.

"Can I join you?" Joe Hardy asked, appearing in front of her with his tray. Nancy stopped chewing momentarily, then forced herself to resume despite the chicken losing a significant amount of its flavor.

"Sure," she responded, as expected.

Joe sat down and glanced around him. He decided to get right to the point since someone could join their table at any moment. "I'm sorry about my niece, Nancy," he said in a low voice.

Nancy tensed, and looked behind her to make sure no one overheard. "Thank you, can we please talk about something else?"

Joe paused. "Frank did tell you that he would tell me?"

"Yes, he did. I wasn't thrilled about it, but there's no way I could ask him to keep a secret from you." Nancy took a drink of water.

Joe nodded. "Your secret is safe with me, but if you let people in, they might be more supportive than you'd think."

Nancy looked pointedly toward the rest of the party. If only he would leave.

"Frank's really ripped up about it," Joe continued, pressing on, stressing his brother's name. "Frank wants to be there for you. Frank wants a lot of things."

"I know, he and I are talking more these days," Nancy said, somewhat truthfully. Mostly she was listening to the voicemails he left.

Joe squinted, intently reading Nancy's facial expression. "We don't need to be best friends, Nancy, we never have been, but Frank is my brother. It's getting harder and harder to sit by and watch this. He and I are supposed to be cracking a terrorist organization, he needs to be at the top of his game, and one false slip could be fatal in so many ways."

"I'm really not seeing what my relationship with him has to do with you," Nancy snapped, her patience strained. "I care for Frank, just not in the way that you'd like to see right now. I just want some time to regroup—"

"Six years isn't enough? You didn't need much time to get over Ned before you hooked up with Frank, then the silent treatment during your mission in Paris, and it's been a whole year of secrets and lies since—"

Pressing her palms to the table, Nancy stood up abruptly, her plate clattering against her glass. " _Please_ stay, Nancy," Joe said impatiently, gripping the top of her hand. Nancy gave him a hard look, then easily twisted out of his loose hold and glanced around her quickly. Fortunately, no one had noticed. She and Joe stared at each other for a long moment before Nancy slowly lowered herself back into the chair.

"This is Bess's day, not ours," Nancy said to him quietly. "We can't make a scene."

"That's not my goal," Joe said seriously. "It's also not my goal to tell you what to do with Frank. I am pleading with you, though, Nancy. It's cruel punishment to keep him dangling like this for so long."

"I never asked Frank to dangle along for me," Nancy replied in disgust.

"But that's what's happening, and I know he doesn't want to stay in the friend zone, so the decision is on you. Can't you come up with some kind of a deadline, Nancy? How many more years does Frank have to wait for you to decide? One? Five? Ten?"

"You might not be helping him with my decision, attacking me like this," Nancy answered, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "You're not making me want to give a favorable answer."

Joe glowered at her. "That's not fair, Drew, and you know it. Don't pin whatever your answer is on me. Take one second and put yourself in my shoes. I think you'd be pretty pissed if this Carter person had done this to Bess."

Nancy's fight-or-flight instinct arose once more. She put her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands, restraining herself from lashing out and saying whatever it took to get Joe off her back. She forced herself to recognize Joe as a protective brother, rather than her personal adversary, and Nancy's shoulders slumped. Joe was much more fun-loving than the side he usually saved for her. They could have been friends, had things worked out differently. Maybe they still could be. Nancy sighed and slowly lowered her hands, sitting up straighter and meeting Joe's gaze once more.

Joe looked back at her, waiting expectantly. Exactly the way he must look when waiting for a suspect to crack.

Nancy felt the familiar tiredness that she experienced whenever she felt pressure, and realized that she'd forgotten to take her vitamin last night. "You're right. It can't go on forever like this," she said. "It's October 16th today. Two weeks, Joe. In two weeks I will decide whether or not I will date Frank or break off contact. If Frank and I change our minds later on, so be it, but before November I will choose the fork in the road."

Joe closed his eyes briefly in relief, then opened them and actually smiled. "Thank you so much, Nancy. That's all I wanted to hear."


	8. Chapter 8

"Are we still sure that no one has any damn questions?" Bess shouted twenty-four hours later, half-giggling, although much more joyful than when she'd asked that question the day before. The ceremony two hours ago had gone perfectly according to plan…except for the new couple knocking over the unity candle as they'd tried to light it with nerve-shaken hands. Nevertheless the new Mrs. Dougherty was now drunk with her husband's love, soaking in the euphoria as the deejay prepared to announce their names at the reception. The lights dimmed and the strobe light spun, the Black-eyed Peas pounding to an unnecessary volume.

Nancy and Joe waited until their turn, third from last, Nancy's hand crooked in Joe's elbow. George and Nancy had agreed that George could be the maid of honor, as long as Nancy could give the toast. Nancy looked down at her dress and smiled to herself. Despite procrastination, Bess ordering the bridesmaid dresses on October 3rd for this October 17th wedding had worked out fine.

"Mr. Joseph Hardy and Miss Nancy Drew!" the deejay announced, and Joe and Nancy strutted in like they'd practiced, finishing in the middle of the dance floor with a ridiculously exaggerated dip. They split up to stand behind their seats at the head table, with those gathered together none the wiser about the passionate argument they'd had the day before.

Nancy was relieved to see that her father had put the notes she'd prepared for the toast at her placemat, as she'd asked him to. From her position she could see the decorations, the oriental lanterns as centerpieces, the cupcake-making station in the back and the photo booth to the side.

The deejay made some preliminary announcements and thank-yous, and the best man gave a suitable jock speech about good-old-college-days, as the two men had met on the college football team. Nancy rolled her eyes ever so slightly as she stood up to give her speech, thinking that at least the bar was low for her own speech.

"Hi everyone, I'm Nancy, and I've known Bess pretty much her whole life," Nancy began with a smile. She locked eyes with Bess and the two young women beamed, both happy that they found themselves here tonight, excited about the future years. "I've had some, uh…interesting jobs over the years, and Bess has always been right by my side. I can tell you, Carter, you've found a good, faithful woman, one that will add plenty of spice and humor to your daily routine…"

Everyone who knew Bess laughed, and Carter squeezed Bess's hand, knowing that he'd chosen the right woman.

"And, likewise, I've heard a lot less _insecure_ comments from Bess since she first met you, Carter—" again some laughs and groans from Bess's loved ones—"and, I've got to say, I started to realize that you were the one when I saw you showing up to make soup when Bess got sick, and even walking her poodle, Mr. Poofles—"

"Mr. Puddles," Bess corrected. "Named for obvious reasons."

"Pardon me," Nancy said, laughing, "and Carter was willing to be seen _in public_ , walking this rat-dog alone—" Nancy glanced down at her notes.

 **I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.—Poe**

Nancy started, her eyes glued to her notes in shock. She had no recollection of writing that. She looked out at the gathering and automatically searched for her father's face. She found instead a black shadow in the far left corner, a brief fuzzy image of a tall, thin being, either male or female, waving its arms slowly in an underwater follow-me gesture. It was outlined by a thin strip of off-white that seemed to glow in the dark, similar to the static on an out-of-reception TV, separating the otherworldly blackness with the terrestrial darkness surrounding it.

Nancy's lower lip trembled in fear, afraid both that the shadow might be real and that it might not be real, and she swallowed down tears. She glanced behind her at the head table, those who were facing her same direction, and knew that no one else was seeing what she was. Suddenly, the shadow seemed to be sucked up into the ceiling, stretching and slithering into the corner of the room, a seemingly impossible contortion for anything that was supposed to be human.

George arose, fluently taking the microphone from Nancy and putting an arm around Nancy's shoulders. "This is my cue to jump in," she said smoothly. "I feel the need to warn Carter of the Marvin-isms. First of all, if you think she's ever going to give up harping about the need to lose those five pounds, you're sorely mistaken."

The whole room laughed this time, as Bess obviously did not need to lose five pounds. Nancy spent the rest of the toast laughing gratefully along at George's comments, hoping her deodorant was doing its job. Nancy swigged her champagne toast along with everyone else.

As soon as she was able, she escaped into the outside hallway. The investigator in her didn't want to dismiss anything. She couldn't get backup, for obvious reasons, but walked briskly outside and looked into the parking lot. She walked around the outside perimeter of the reception area, peering up at the fire escape. She entered the main stairwell.

The door at the top of the stairs opened. George appeared, nonplussed. "There you are," she said to Nancy. "Please come back to the reception, Nancy. Please. Please."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Nancy said, allowing George to take her hand. They walked up the stairs and back down the hallway. "They pay me to be suspicious, sorry." _Used to, anyway._ "Thanks for covering for me, George, that saved everything."

"I'm glad Bess got even _more_ than her dream wedding: two toasts instead of one. I'll have to remember to rub that in." George stopped and faced Nancy, tucking one of Nancy's reddish-blonde strands behind her friend's ear. "Listen, Nancy, we didn't get any time together at all during this hectic weekend. It's not like computer nerds like me have a hoppin' social schedule. Why don't I buy you a train ticket and you can come visit me in Richmond next weekend? Take next Friday off and come in the morning, I'll have something planned for that night and we can hang out all day Saturday. You can leave on the Sunday morning train and still be refreshed for work on Monday."

Nancy couldn't think of a single reason not to. "I'd love to come down, George," she said gratefully. "I have a really nice coworker, Tracy, who I'm sure could cover my Friday appointments for me."

Carson shook his head at what Joe was saying to him. "It's scary these days, I'm telling you," he said. "They're targeting bridges now?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah. Frank and I have been doing a lot of research into which bridge in the tri-state area would look most attractive to the group we're tracking down"—he avoided the word "terrorists" since they were in a public place—"and I'm betting on the Ben Franklin Bridge. It's big, it's over a river that flows into major bodies of water, it's centrally located, and it has a very well-lighted pedestrian path. It doesn't have as much surveillance as, say, the George Washington Bridge, but try upping the security and the red tape doesn't want to hear it."

"Isn't it awful," Carson agreed, then noticed that Joe was becoming distracted. He followed Joe's eyes and saw Frank fifteen feet away, at a table by himself. "Well, good talking to you, Joe, I think it's actually been a couple of years since I've seen you," Carson said, giving Joe a firm handshake. "Best wishes."

"You too, sir," Joe said, and walked to the bartender.

"Come on, elder brother," Joe said a few minutes later, sitting down and handing Frank a rum and coke. "You're supposed to be having a good time, too, you know."

Frank shook his head, taking a swig. "She hasn't met my eye once all night. I'm sure she doesn't want me running after her to see if she's all right, or asking what upset her during the toast, or even asking her to dance, or then again does she _secretly_ want me to, so that she can yell at me? Women, I'll never figure them out."

Joe had said it all before, and had no intention of saying it again. He took his own sip of a stronger substance. "Bess's wedding isn't the place, Frank. Let it go, be happy for Bess for one night."

"You're right, you're right." Frank let his gaze drift over to Joe's wife, Amanda, as she attempted to dance with his two-year-old nephew. "I can't believe your family could even come tonight. How can Amanda's feet possibly support that burden? In heels, no less."

Joe beamed in her direction. "They're going to induce if she doesn't go into labor within a week. She's gorgeous when she's pregnant. Not that you're allowed to agree with me, of course."

Frank grinned. "A man should not comment on a woman's appearance." He took another sip, already beginning to feel the effects of his drink.

"You guys look like a couple of assholes," Fenton Hardy said suddenly, appearing behind Joe and squeezing his shoulder with a firm hand. Carson overheard as he was shrugging into his coat, and rolled his eyes in disgust. "Everybody else in your age group is out there dancing," Fenton continued, "and you're here getting wasted in the corner. Joe's hugely pregnant wife is going to have to drive him home, and this is an interesting technique to win Nancy's affections, Frank."

"Thanks, Dad," Frank said drily.

Laura Hardy overheard and came to her sons' rescue. "Come on, honey, you dance with me then," she said briskly, leading her husband away by the elbow.

Frank calmly took another sip, but Joe's eyes flashed with anger. "You're just okay with that, Frank? Your father calling you an asshole?"

"He didn't call us assholes, he said we _look_ like assholes, which may be true. He probably heard that line on a cop show and always wanted to use it. You take him too seriously."

Joe fumed, the familiar red blush of passion beginning at his collar and working upward. "I swear, if he were any other man, I would go over there—"

Frank punched his brother's arm playfully. "It would have been nice to grow up in the Brady Bunch, that's true, but think of the benefits to growing up in mental boot camp. We never would have gotten so good at detective work, we never would have qualified for ATAC."

"Stop playing peacemaker between the two of us, don't you think we're a little old for that now? You don't need to protect me." Joe drained his glass in defiance and pushed the glass away, chewing and swallowing a chunk of ice. "I'm telling you, Dad isn't an evil person, but he has such a strong undercurrent to him…I wonder what he's capable of."

"He saves his affection for Mom, yes. It's a good thing we're both the same gender, because a daughter would have been the favorite." Frank was becoming distracted, eyes searching for Nancy across the crowded room.

Joe was smiling to himself. Couples leaned against one another, almost comatose during the mournful southern wailing of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn."

"Uh-oh," Frank said when he noticed Joe's look.

"Come on, elder brother. Let's show Pop just what kind of assholes we can be." Joe stood up and dramatically bowed, offering his hand.

Frank grinned, loosened up enough to see the humor. "Who, me?" he said mockingly.

Joe pulled his brother toward the center of the dancing floor, one hand around Frank's neck, the other on Frank's wrist. Frank laughed and played along. Joe spun his brother in clockwise circles, then counterclockwise, crooning along with the singer.

The crowd began to notice, and fortunately the night was far enough along that the giggles seemed to outnumber the eye rolls. Fenton Hardy's jaw was set in a firm line as he resolutely continued to dance with his wife.

"Oh my god, somebody stop this madness!" Bess shrieked, laughing, spinning her way toward them with her husband. "Nancy, you have to save my reception!"

Nancy gave Bess a withering look even while giggling softly to herself, knowing that she had to give the bride what she wanted. Who knew, though. Giving in might not be all that bad.

"Please, sir, can I cut in?" Nancy shouted above the music, pushing Frank and Joe apart. Joe put up his hands in surrender, retreating to his wife at their table. Frank turned to Nancy gratefully and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Nancy held her breath, hoping that Frank would just sway to the music.

Frank thought and thought of the proper comment to whisper into her ear…and settled on nothing. As they danced, he held her a little closer than was absolutely necessary. The song only lasted another minute, but it was the best minute of the night.

"I'll assume that effect was planned," Amanda shouted at Joe, rubbing her feet and raising her eyebrows.

"Thank you, thank you," Joe drawled in her ear, rubbing her shoulders. "My father will be most impressed. He was just saying that Frank uses such interesting techniques to win over Nancy."


	9. Chapter 9

Nancy enjoyed her job. Four out of five days…which she thought was a pretty good ratio. But when it rained, it poured.

"I know you told me not to see him again, I know that," Maria said miserably on the Wednesday after Bess's wedding, tears forming a wet stain on each cheek.

"I don't tell you what to do, Maria," Nancy reminded her client absentmindedly, her gaze sweeping over Maria's apartment. The usual layer of dust. Piles of dishes in the sink. A disorganized med box, with the pills still in it that she should have taken yesterday and the day before. An empty wine bottle on the coffee table. "I'm not your mother, I just ask questions so maybe you can figure out what you really want. So, tell me what happened last night."

Maria sighed, lighting a cigarette in the living room of her non-smoking rental. The smoke detector had been disabled long ago. "I don't know, it just happened."

" _What_ just happened?"

"Maybe I just need a man once in a while to take my pressure down. Anyway, he told me the usual things, and I just feel like—I don't know, like maybe he and I could make a relationship work."

Maria launched into the usual story, and Nancy glanced at the clock, knowing that Maria would need at least ten minutes to vent. Nancy sighed and walked to the kitchen, putting on a pair of gloves and handing Maria a pair. Without missing a beat, Maria stood next to Nancy at the sink, drying the dishes Nancy washed and stacking them on the counter, relating erotic details that Nancy would rather not hear.

Eventually Nancy interrupted. "And so how do you feel now? Last night was great, but how about now?"

Maria saw the curveball and decided to match it. "Yeah, I knew you wouldn't be happy about it. You're mad at me, I know, but I'll be better next time."

"It's not about what I think," Nancy responded, then swallowed in an attempt to remove the strong trace of irritation in her voice. "This is my job, yes, but it's your _life_. I go home at 4:30. You have to stay here and live with this."

"I know, I know, but never again. I will think about my emotional needs first. Just to be honest I did stop taking my meds for a couple of days, but I'm starting again now. I'm back on track."

Unconvinced, Nancy opened her mouth to try another intervention, then closed it again. The last thing she needed was for Maria to fill out another grievance, and have Nancy's name brought up in the CEO's office due to the complaint procedure. Nancy returned to the dishes and tuned out the excuses, feeling ridiculous for doing Maria's dishes for her…but if Nancy didn't, the mess would pile up, and the landlord would call the office and complain. Nancy's company actively cultivated good relationships with landlords who rented cheap apartments.

"I feel like my time is running out," Maria said.

Nancy stopped cleaning a glass mid-swipe. "What did you say?"

"I feel like my biological clock is running out. I've got nobody. No husband, no kids, no job. Why am I getting up in the morning?"

This begged a follow-up question, although Nancy cringed to hear her own cliché. "Do you…feel like you might hurt yourself—"

Maria waved Nancy's question away impatiently, sitting down at the kitchen table, sending a strong signal that she would be doing no further cleaning. "No, I'm not suicidal, God, can I speak, Nancy? I'm not depressed yet, I know when my bipolar acts up, I just feel like every day is the same...something's got to change, I can't just be sitting around here."

The case worker in Nancy wanted to jump in and suggest resume-writing, but she knew Maria quite well. Maria wasn't ready for change. Yet Nancy didn't want to be cynical. "I don't think this kind of problem can be solved by a one-night stand, Maria," Nancy said quietly. "Take tonight and relax, think about what other solutions you want to try." Wanting to leave on a semi-profound note, Nancy took off her gloves and picked up her car keys.

"Wait—I haven't told you everything I learned. Nancy, just a few minutes more, you're the only case worker I've ever had that really understands me."

Despite her best efforts, Nancy felt her brain release a refreshing squirt of self-esteem. Most clients said similar things, but it still felt good to hear it. "It's 3:45, I have to be back at the office by 4:30, so it needs to be quick—"

Then Maria made a fatal error. She glanced quickly at the remaining dirty dishes piled next to the sink.

Nancy bristled, steeling her face to be as professional as possible. "It's late, I've got to go now. I'm glad that you're going to be thinking of new goals for yourself. I'll be back next week to check on you."

"With Halloween just around the corner, how could I possibly let this opportunity pass?" George said with her signature fun-loving grin, picking up two tickets and heading toward the nearest line. The past week had flown by for both of the young women. "Remember that haunted house we went through with Bess? The clown came running at her and Bess screamed and hugged a coat rack for protection, then pushed a coffin into him and ran out like she'd been stabbed."

"And somehow she had a date with the clown a few nights later," Nancy said, laughing. She breathed in the fresh southern air as she and George followed a pack of teenyboppers into the haunted hayride line.

"And now, _finally_ ," George drawled, the barest hint of a southern accent beginning to creep into the edges of her words, "let's catch up. How tired are you from that long train ride? Probably should have asked you before I dragged you out here for some Virginia hick fun."

"This is giving me more energy, actually. This farm is just what I need." Nancy gazed at the excited crowd, energy palpably moving through them. "Let's talk about you first, George. You look happy."

"I am. Moving up the ranks at work, using my brain all the time…the first year, year and a half, I was at work 12 hours a day and wished they wouldn't lock the doors at night." George's eyes sparkled with animation. She had the same low black ponytail as always, the perpetual khakis that she wore seven days a week. Nancy could already detect a slight rounding in her shoulders from poor posture in a desk chair.

"It's been three years since you graduated and moved down here, so what changed in the past year and a half?" Nancy asked.

"I am finally realizing," George said dramatically, scuffling her shoes like she'd been scolded, "that maybe…perhaps…computers can't solve _every_ one of humanity's problems…"

Nancy squealed in delight and clapped her hands. "We've been waiting ten years for you to say that, George!"

"Which is not to be repeated until you have my say-so." George grinned. "And so I'm looking into social groups, or team bowling, or crocheting classes, anything but online dating. I'll be fine." George and Nancy stopped speaking for a moment as they followed the hayride queue around a lengthy corner. "And so," George continued nonchalantly, "Have I talked appropriately long enough about myself, to earn some information on you?"

Nancy squeezed her friend's arm. "Always thinking about other people, George. You've been content to play third fiddle your whole life, what with my mysteries and Bess's dramatics."

"There are advantages. I never have to see a movie or go to the theatre or read fiction. You guys provide all the entertainment." George leaned back against the fence and pushed her hands deeper into her coat pockets. "Seriously, Nancy, spotlight's on you. Maybe if we chase this elephant out of the room, we can enjoy the rest of the weekend. You're hundreds of miles away from anyone you want to hide anything from."

Nancy winced at her friend's words. "I don't mean to be secretive, I really don't. I'm just…sensitive in a way that I wasn't before. It feels like no one would understand. I know, I know, I should at least give people a chance—"

""I'm not giving you advice, Nan," George said. "I'm just listening."

"Okay, thanks." Nancy fought the familiar walls that threatened to rise, but it was easier to talk here, with an old friend who was so far removed from everything that had happened. "I, ahh…I think I'm getting better from…losing the baby, but it's taking me so much longer than I ever would have thought. And sometimes I feel ridiculous. Most families don't even do funerals for still-borns, and here I am sulking a year later."

"It's not stupid," George said seriously.

"Thank you. I just keep counting the months, thinking what her first word might have been, when it would be time for her first step. She was _in me,_ George, and then she left. If I can't hold on to my own offspring, how much more…tenuous is the rest of what I have? Why bother getting close to anybody?" Nancy shook her head rapidly to try to shake these thoughts out of her head. "George, we're standing right here next to each other, but does anybody really connect with anybody else? A piano could fall from the sky right now and kill you but not me. We live alone, we leave alone. She left me, and I'm here alone, feeling like maybe she's not really dead, maybe she just stepped out of the room and she'll come right back and give me a second chance."

George walked silently next to Nancy as they continued up the line, making sure that Nancy had time to complete her thoughts. "That's deep, Nan," she finally said. "Did you ever have maternal thoughts before you were pregnant?"

Nancy swallowed a lump in her throat, but it came back up. "No," she whispered. "I never thought about what an honor it would be, a helpless creature depending totally on me for sustenance, love, everything. And how can I move on, George? I don't want another baby, I want her, it feels like the ultimate betrayal to ever have another one."

George opened her mouth to argue but closed it again, forcing herself to keep her promise. "Why do you think the baby was a girl?"

Nancy smiled, suddenly playful. "I don't know, maybe just wishful thinking. And you know what else," she said to her friend conspiratorially, "I think she would have had my personality. Mine or my mom's. Not at all like Frank."

George laughed, happy for the comedic relief. "Fifty percent chance, right, Nancy?" she teased, flipping her ponytail back over her shoulder.

"Frank would have freaked at the name, too. For some reason I always think of her as a Madeleine."

"Oh, my poor godniece!" George shrieked in surprise. "What year do you think you're living in?"

Nancy laughed. "Oh George," she said, sighing again, "forgiving other people is the easy part in life. It's forgiving yourself that has to happen afresh every day."

George gave Nancy a one-armed hug. "Let other people help you, Nan. We might be able to help pick up the pieces, even if the picture never looks exactly like it did before."

"Advice!"

"I know, I'm sorry. Bess told me that you finally talked to Frank."

"Yeah. It went better than I thought." Nancy climbed onto the hayride trailer, scooting to the very front as ordered. She picked a stray piece of hay out of her hair. "He was angry at first, then understanding…letting me take my time…so annoying."

" _Annoying_?" George laughed. "Is there anything he possibly could have said or done that you would have approved of?"

"No, I guess not," Nancy said, smiling sheepishly. "I think a big problem is he invaded me, therefore a baby invaded me, and my body kind of wants to stay closed off right now. My guard is up."

"I get that, Nancy, but Frank's a gentleman. You guys can take your time."

"I know but _geez_ , George, so many years go by with this forbidden attraction between me and Frank, suddenly it's not forbidden anymore, and then I can't even protect Frank Hardy's baby? I'm not the girl he fell in love with, and it feels like I'm selling a false bag of goods."

"Let him be the judge of that, will you? I know, sorry, advice again," George said, squeezing toward Nancy to make room for the last riders.

"And you won't believe it, George, but Joe confronted me at the rehearsal dinner a week ago—he asked me to come up with a deadline for deciding if I was going to date Frank or cut off contact."

George recoiled, leaning back and assessing Nancy's facial expression. "Are you serious? I understand they're brothers but Joe has no right."

"I know, and believe me I thought of that, but I can see where he's coming from…and I agreed to make a decision about Frank by the end of next week."

George shook her head slowly in disbelief. "I can't believe Joe would pressure you into that, and I can't believe you'd go along with it."

"Yeah, me neither, but I did, and two weeks seemed like a reasonable deadline at the time…but it's been a full week already, and I'm no closer to a decision. I'm still avoiding him and annoyed by his calls, but the thought of never seeing him again…I feel physically ill when I think of him being totally out of my life."

"All right, folks, thanks for coming out tonight, let's just get some safety rules out of the way before you begin your ride," a hassled, acne-ridden young woman called to the riders.

George leaned in for one last question before the opportunity was lost. "So what do you really think of Frank?" she whispered as the girl continued speaking. "Ask yourself what your heart wanted before the baby. Was Frank a rebound relationship?"

Nancy rolled her eyes and leaned toward her friend's ear. "Ask rather if the relationship with Ned was easy, convenient, and long-distance, a perfect combination for those afraid of commitment. Like father, like daughter. Another reason to feel inferior—Frank's parents were met and married within eight months and everything's been great for them ever since. That's what Frank will be expecting from a relationship, too."

The trailer lurched forward, ending the conversation. The path wound through a funeral parlor, a meat slaughterhouse, and the obligatory clown circus, each time with character actors jumping onto the trailer and firing up disabled chainsaws. Nancy and George laughed as the actors went straight for the scared college girls.

"Those boyfriends must be thinking they're getting their money's worth, getting to hug and protect them," George whispered. Nancy had to agree.

They entered the grand finale, the spider web. George whimpered, especially vulnerable to this fear. "Get your money's worth, Nancy," she said, leaning in for cover. Nancy put an arm around her and enjoyed the decorations: A huge area of pop-out spiders, strobe lights, character actors wrapped in cloth pretending that they'd been caught in the web. Long, thin black shadows dancing, beckoning in the background. They were so far back that Nancy could barely make out their outlines, haloed in hazy light.

"The special effects here are amazing, if you're brave enough to poke your head up," Nancy teased. "How are they doing those dancing shadows?"

"It's probably one of those shadow-throwing machines. Where are they?" George asked, poking her head up for a chance to learn something about technology.

"In the background, see? There's several of them."

George stared exactly where Nancy was looking. "Where?"

A realization hit Nancy, and she recovered much more quickly than she had at the wedding. "You just missed it, George, don't be a wimp next time." She'd said it much more sharply than she'd intended.

George looked at her in surprise.

The hayride came to an end, and Nancy experienced jitters and claustrophobia waiting for their turn to get off. _How difficult is it to step down, people?_ she thought irritably. Finally she was off and walking quickly for the car.

"Wait!" George called, catching up to her. "Did I miss something? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Nancy lied. "Now that the hayride is over, I went back to thinking about our earlier conversation and got a little upset."

"I'm sorry, Nance. I'm glad you're talking about it, though." George glanced toward the concession stand. "Let's get some apple cider and relax for a minute. Then we'll be calmer, and able to talk about other things on the way home."

Although grateful for George's support, Nancy avoided eye contact for the rest of the evening. She didn't want to see the familiar suspicious, wounded look, the one where a loved one knows that they're not being given the whole truth.


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm so sorry about this, Nan," George flustered for the sixth time, quickly tying her hair back into the usual ponytail. "It was supposed to be our weekend. I needed this as much as you do. I only have to cover at work for a few hours, okay? I should be back mid-afternoon. I'm going to chew this guy's ear off at work on Monday for calling out."

Nancy dissipated George's worries with a wave of her hand. "Stop it, it's fine. You've spent half your life revolving around my schedule, now it's time for the other way around for a change."

"There's leftovers in the fridge—"

"Thanks, Mom."

"We're right in downtown here, too, you know," George said, shouldering her bag. "There should be something to do in the area if you want to get out. The neighborhood can be rough, but I don't need to give you any advice on how to take care of yourself."

"I'll check online for something," Nancy said, yawning. "Go on."

A minute later, Nancy could hear George's clunker puttering out of the parking space of her apartment complex. Nancy took another sip of coffee and wrinkled her nose. The caffeine was helpful, but she still hated the taste.

Draining her mug in the sink, Nancy took a moment to bask in the southern sunlight coming through George's apartment window. She was surprised to feel a wanderlust stirring in her, an urge to explore a new area. It was a familiar feeling, a pleasant one that she hadn't experienced in a long time. _Don't go out there finding a new mystery, Nancy, we're on vacation!_ Nancy could hear George yelling in her conscience. Maybe Nancy was starting to get better after all…despite the shadows she'd seen last night.

Were the shadows hallucinations? She'd been taking her vitamins faithfully, and had never had this symptom before. Nancy couldn't decide how she felt about the shadows, either. Were they trying to scare her? Protect her? Show her something? Or was she reading too much into their beckoning motions? Deciding to forget about it for today, Nancy pulled out her Smart phone to follow her friend's advice.

Googling "Richmond, VA attractions," Nancy ignored the first few results, restaurants and money-making gimmicks, and kept scrolling. She gasped as she saw number eleven on the list.

Her words from a couple of weeks ago echoed in her mind: _There are four Poe houses, actually. One in Philadelphia, one in Baltimore, one in Richmond, and one in the Bronx._

An hour later, showered and dressed, Nancy let the chill wind blow-dry her slightly damp hair as her Smart Phone guided her through the streets. Her self-preservation instincts returned, scanning her surroundings for safety and anything suspicious as she navigated downtown Richmond. The smells of burgers and beers wafted toward her from a local bar, already open and busy on a sunny fall Saturday.

"This is it," she muttered, assessing the building before her. She knew to take the sight before her with a grain of salt; Poe had lived two hundred years ago, so it had undergone extensive renovations.

"What the…?" Nancy said to herself, watching as people who looked like Swat team members were setting up strange-looking equipment both outside and inside the house. Nancy had a good working knowledge of what crime scene instruments looked like, but she had never seen these varieties before.

"Come on in, the Poe house is still open," one person in uniform called to Nancy cheerfully, obviously under no undue stress by whatever the situation was. Nancy followed the advice and hurried inside, paying the $5 entrance fee after showing her student ID.

"You look surprised—hmm, I wonder why," a woman said in an inviting voice. Nancy turned to face her direction, and saw a plump, matronly-looking woman in her early 40s, sitting at a table with pamphlets. "Richmond Paranormal Investigators" was written in large block letters, and pictures and information were set up science fair-style, the presentation backed in cardboard. Nancy walked toward the display, intrigued.

The woman pointed to her own name tag. "I am Gretchen. As you can see. My organization is made up of volunteers, and during the month of October we are asked to visit a variety of locations, checking for energy activity. We'll try to find out today if there is any lingering activity here…even though Poe never actually lived in this house, it contains many of his personal items, furniture, and manuscripts. It makes sense that some energy of a writer would want to remain with his creation."

Nancy took a seat in front of the display, introducing herself. She noticed sheepishly that the posted museum hours were 10 to 5; she was lucky that they'd let her in a half hour early. "So how do you go about looking for…"

"We have all this equipment," Gretchen said, gesturing around her, "and we don't do traditional séances, Ouija boards, all the questions that we're usually asked. You see, every person on this earth generates _energy_. You and I are doing it right now. Therefore, when a life form passes away, all that happens is that its energy changes into a different form. Energy will want to remain where it is if it has a reason for doing so. Richmond Paranormal Investigators provides our services free of charge to anyone who believes they have energy, usually malevolent energy, interfering with normal activities. Sometimes it's just that the pipes are clogged and we can give them a referral and reassurance, and other times it takes the combined efforts of everyone in a circle to send a message to the energy that it's okay to move on."

A group of investigators sat in a circle, watching a ball roll on the floor. It appeared to roll of its own free will, but always heading toward one individual. Several group members were smiling knowingly. "Always toward you, Brenda," one young man teased.

Nancy walked toward them for a better look at the ball. When she got within several feet of the circle, the ball began to roll slowly toward her direction.

Heads began to turn toward Nancy's way. "You're hired," the same young man said.

"Stop scaring her—it's fine, Nancy," Gretchen said from her place at the table. "The purpose of that ball is to allow a conduit with the energy in this room. We aren't controlling the energy, we aren't telling it what to do. The energy can express itself in that ball, and choose to go wherever in the room that it wants to go."

"And some entities are more sensitive to energy fluctuations than others," Brenda said, looking pointedly at Nancy. "And more attractive. I held the reigning title until now."

Nancy gaped at the group, unable to respond. She couldn't believe she was entertaining these thoughts…how many times had she been called to investigate a ghost story, and searched out the criminal activity underneath? She had never had much tolerance for this kind of quackery.

"Come back over here, Nancy," Gretchen called, and Nancy complied. "You're still a normal person. The reason we check for energy flow is that, even though everyone has heard of a haunted _house_ , most don't realize that _people_ can be attractive to energy. Have you ever…maybe felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up for no reason, or be sure you saw or heard something that other people didn't?"

Nancy's mouth felt dry. She swallowed. "Well…sometimes…but I…there are other reasons for it, too."

"Like what?" Gretchen was assertive enough to ask questions directly, and friendly enough to make Nancy want to open up as well. Nancy found herself valuing this woman's opinion.

"Like…" Nancy gazed at a point over Gretchen's right shoulder, embarrassed. "Well, I saw two psychiatrists about it, and they gave me two different diagnoses."

"Okay." Gretchen nodded for Nancy to continue, like Nancy had only been commenting on the weather.

"I, ah…I had an episode about a year ago, and I lost some time. I don't know where those few days went, and I was not my usual self, to put it mildly. The emergency doctor called it psychotic disorder with depressive features."

"And what did the other one say?" Gretchen asked.

Nancy rubbed the bottom of her sweater between her forefinger and thumb, a self-soothing technique she'd been taught by a nurse. "My discharge plan involved going to a regular outpatient psychiatrist, and he said that it was too soon to give me such a heavy label. Instead, he thinks I have condition known as conversion disorder…basically, when I become very upset, my body acts out."

"And do you agree with either of these two assessments?" Gretchen asked.

Nancy shrugged. "I think the way I think of the world changed, and it's hard to adjust to being a less assertive, less risk-taking person. Something traumatic happened, my priorities changed, and it's a shock." Nancy glanced sidelong at the ball, still rolling in its circle. "I guarantee that a year and a half ago, that ball would have run far away from me."

Gretchen nodded in acknowledgement. "There are many theories of what you refer to as "psychosis," Nancy. Some people in my field believe that some types of schizophrenia are simply the result of an exceptionally sensitive state of consciousness. There are old voices in the air all around us right now, just in different frequencies, and if someone's mental radio is tuned to all sorts of stations…well, you can see how that might be distracting."

Nancy took some introductory material from the table and slipped it into her purse for later. She couldn't help but think of Zane, having an increase of symptoms when he was inside the Philadelphia Poe house.

"Therefore medications serve to dampen some of the receptors in the brain, so not _every_ mass of energy is allowed to intrude." Gretchen squinted her eyes slightly and leaned forward for emphasis. "Understand, Nancy, I'm not telling you to stop your traditional treatments. I'm just letting you know that there's a bigger picture as well. You yourself have to decide what kind of energy is permissible in your life, and how much. Everyday decisions, thoughts, and emotions will send the message to energy sources of what is invited near you and what isn't. You are much more powerful than you think."

Although acutely listening to Gretchen's words, Nancy became increasingly uncomfortable at the intimacy of the conversation, and stood up to leave at the next available opportunity. "Thank you so much, I promise to think of everything you've said to me," she said, folding up a pamphlet and putting it in her purse. "The museum is opening soon. I'll let you get your last-minute things done."

Gretchen continued to follow Nancy with her eyes as Nancy entered the exhibition hall.

Nancy allowed herself to feel like a tourist, examining each exhibit and wondering what it must have been like in Edgar's shoes, a tortured genius so poorly compensated or respected for his work. Due to lax copyright restrictions, Poe had lived in poverty bordering on destitution for the duration of his life, unable to afford basic care for his terminally ill wife. Although popular with the masses, he'd faced much condescension from the critics, mainly for his scathing critiques of the literary establishment and many of its writers. Poe also had a strong streak of self-sabotage in his nature; just when things began looking hopeful for him, he'd try to sell magazine subscriptions at a job interview, or read one of his worst poems when asked to present at an elite symposium.

"Kind of like visiting a second Poe house, when I blacked out at another one two weeks ago," Nancy muttered to herself. She knew that she was attracted to Poe because there were so many different ways to interpret his texts; he certainly believed that there were many layers to the human psyche, and Nancy was living proof that this concept rang with truth.

Nancy heard a low ding coming from her phone, signaling that she had a text. _It might be George,_ she thought with trepidation, glancing at her watch. She'd been gone a long time.

Reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone, Nancy opened the dialogue box and saw a mass text from Joe Hardy, sent to everyone on his contacts list. A picture of an infant with blonde fuzz and a small, upturned nose filled Nancy's screen. Beneath was the caption: "Please welcome into the world Madeleine Hardy, born Thursday. Never was there a more loved, cherished baby."


	11. Chapter 11

Frank shrugged on his coat, preparing to leave. He knew that Joe tended to get a little clingy during major life events, as Frank had been his emotional rock during all of Joe's life, so he'd stayed later than the rest of the family to hold the baby and talk about new life. But Amanda had already fallen asleep, and Frank was aware that Joe was running on four hours of sleep a night.

"Congratulations again, Joe," Frank said, clasping his brother's hand in a firm handshake. "You never would have believed it, if someone had told you ten years ago that you'd be married with two kids by the time you were twenty-five."

"It's a shocker, but a good one," Joe agreed, fighting to keep his eyes open. "I hope this hasn't been too hard on you, with your recent news."

Frank thought about it, and shook his head no. "It seems like two totally different things. Your baby isn't my baby. Thanks for the acknowledgement, though."

"I'm going to say this just in case, Frank," Joe said, blocking his brother's exit for one more moment. "When Amanda was pregnant the first time, I just couldn't muster the same enthusiasm that she did. It didn't seem real yet. I've heard, and now believe, that a woman feels like a mother when she becomes pregnant, and a father feels like a father when he holds the baby in his arms. Don't beat yourself up if you're not as upset about the miscarriage as Nancy."

Frank gave Joe an appreciative look. "Thanks, Joe, that does help actually. Mostly I wish that Nancy would let me talk about this, so we'd be able to get through it together." Their conversation was cut off by Frank's phone ringing loudly, in a ringtone that Frank knew quite well. He answered immediately, walking away from Joe for privacy.

"Nancy?" Frank said softly, urgently. "Are you okay? It's eleven o'clock at night."

"It's George," a near-hysterical voice said on the other end. "I have no one else to call. Nancy's dad is freaking out but he can't leave his own investigation right now, and Bess is on her three-week dream honeymoon, not that she could do anything anyway—"

"What's going on?" Frank asked sharply. "First of all, are you guys hurt?"

"No, nobody's hurt, nobody's in physical danger. Nancy…" George was interrupted by a coughing spell, and had to clear her throat. Frank fought not to yell at her in frustration. "Nancy came to visit me for the weekend, and I got called into work today. She must have spent the day in downtown or something, but when I got back to the apartment in the late afternoon, she wasn't home and wasn't picking up her phone. Finally, an hour ago the triage nurses called me from the emergency room—"

Frank sat down abruptly on Joe's sofa. Joe looked on silently in concern, unable to hear the conversation.

"They said that someone approached her on the street, asking if she was all right, and she just lost it. Crying, hysterical, resisting coming into the ambulance. She must have been walking around in a daze for hours. She was so volatile that they had to give her an injection to knock her out. The hospital staff went through her purse and found train ticket stubs and my address and phone number, and when I got down here, they gave me her purse. There's pamphlets in here too, scary stuff, paranormal investigators and Edgar Allan Poe. She won't talk to me at all. It's like she doesn't even recognize me. Frank, I know what set her off."

Frank closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to prepare himself for whatever it could possibly be. "I'm listening."

"When I looked at her phone," George continued with an effort, "There was a picture of Joe's new baby. And the name—Madeleine Hardy."

Frank's forehead creased in confusion. "And so…"

George sighed. "She must not have told you. Just last night she told me, Frank, that she believed that the baby would be a girl—that's why she always refers to the baby as a she. And she was going to name the name the baby Madeleine. _Madeleine Hardy_."

Frank felt a feeling of ice prickle between his shoulder blades. He glanced at Joe, grateful that he hadn't had George on speakerphone. "Richmond is at least five hours away, even with late-night traffic. I won't get there until the wee hours of the morning—" he ignored Joe's exasperated sigh—"so I'll call you when I get there. You've done everything you could possibly do, George, and don't think of any woulda-coulda-shoulda either."

"Thanks for coming, Frank," George said gratefully. "I have no idea how she'll react to you but really, I didn't have anyone else to call."

"I'm glad you did. Please try to get some sleep." Frank hung up the phone.

"So what's going on with Nancy now?" Joe asked.

"I don't know, she's having an episode. Please don't give me any lectures, I have good instincts and I just know that I need to get down there," Frank said, programming the GPS on his phone.

"And with me taking the weekend off from the case for the baby, and now you running off, who's going to ask the bad guys to take some time off?" Joe asked, annoyed. "This gives them quite an advantage."

"There will always be a case." Frank paused, his hand on the doorknob once again. "Please, Joe. I know you're not thrilled when I run off after Nancy, but let's let the argument go this time. It's going to be a rough night for me so please, just a hug this time, okay?"

Joe hesitated for a fraction of a second, ready to argue, but then pulled his brother in for a tight hug. "All right. A free pass just this once. Good luck."

"Madeleine is gorgeous," Frank said in closing, jogging toward his car before the door to Joe's house closed.

Joe sighed and walked to his refrigerator, counting the days on his calendar magnet. October 31st was one week from today. That was the day Nancy had promised to give Frank a final decision. And Joe intended to make sure she kept that promise.

ndndnd

Frank waited to hit "dial" until he was on the freeway. He had all night, anyway.

"Frank?" a sleepy voice answered with an edge of concern.

"Hi, Dad," Frank said. "Nobody's hurt, nobody's in danger, I just need an urgent favor from you. Let me know when you're awake enough to hear it. Sorry that it's so late."

Frank heard the distant creak of bed springs as his father got out of bed, yawning and stretching. "All right, go ahead."

Frank forced himself to continue, knowing the reaction would not be good. "Dad, Nancy is in an ER in Richmond right now—"

"Jesus, Frank," Fenton snapped, "maybe you could have woken me up if this were the first time."

"Please listen, Dad."

"Did it ever occur to you that she might need a couple of days to calm down?"

"Yes, it did, the first couple of times this happened," Frank went on, determined not to let his father intimidate him. "Obviously the whole routine of walking around in a hospital gown for two days doesn't seem to be working for her. Shocker. Therefore let me try something else this time."

"Like what?"

"Like using your connections to get her signed into my custody. You know all these hospitals are the same—they won't check into whatever story you make up, they just want to get people discharged so they can become somebody else's problem. But I need your credentials to do it, Dad."

Frank knew that the parental eye roll was happening, even though he couldn't see it. "Frank, there are so many things I want to say right now, and you know exactly what they are."

"I know, Dad."

"And I also know that tone of voice, and that I'll have no peace until I give you what you want."

"But I don't do this often. Please."

Frank heard a jostling and some static, then his mother's voice on the phone. "Frank, I know what this is about."

"What?" Frank looked at his phone in shock, then back toward the road, swerving to get back in his lane.

"Monday is the twentieth anniversary of Nancy's mother's death."

Frank sat still, stunned. Although caught off guard, he was glad that his mother didn't know about the miscarriage. "Wow, Mom, I didn't realize you kept track of it."

Fenton took the phone back. "Well, your mother obviously supports your side, from all the things she's whispering," he said hurriedly, "so I'll go along with it this time. I'll call ahead and let them know that you're coming to sign her out. Put handcuffs on her so that they think she's under arrest—that's the most obvious reason why a detective would be coming to get her. But Frank, you've got to keep in mind that if anything happens later that could have been prevented tonight, it's my ass on the line."

"I know, and thanks so much, Dad," Frank said genuinely.

He hung up the phone and tried to think only of this emergency, but the long-term haunted him as well. Would Nancy always resent his niece as the daughter she should have had? Would Frank have to take steps to prevent Nancy from being around the baby?

ndndnd

Frank realized his mistake when he pulled into the hospital parking lot. _I should have brought the cruiser. When useless people see the cruiser, they step out of the way and let me do my job._

Parking to the side, Frank straightened the suit and tie he'd put on at the last rest area, and headed inside to the front desk. He'd never had any intention of bringing George back into it, but knew that George wouldn't have rested unless she'd felt like she was helping; he'd have to call her and explain himself later. "Detective Frank Hardy, here to take a mental health patient into custody," he said to the front desk attendant in a no-nonsense tone.

Fortunately she had been expecting him, and scampered to the back to get a member of Nancy's treatment team. The lead nurse came out, tired and frazzled at the end of her shift, and beckoned to him to follow. Frank knew with relief that he still had the necessary ingredients needed to get hospital staff to cooperate: overworked staff, not enough staff, and, most importantly, the name of a higher-up to blame everything on.

The nurse stopped outside of a room. Frank showed his badge, even though he hadn't even been asked to.

The nurse raised her eyebrows. "There's only one of you? I know she's just a young woman, but she was pretty feisty last night. She's also beginning to wake up, unless you want me to give her the juice again."

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Frank said quickly. "I don't want to carry her out of here like an animal. All I need to do is get these handcuffs on her. If I can grab her around the waist, I'm fine."

"We've kept her dressed, since we knew you were going to take her. Do you want Al, my lead technician, to come in the room with you?" the nurse asked.

Frank thought quickly. "Just have one standing outside the door. I'll knock when I'm ready, or come and get me if I'm not out in ten minutes."

The orderly standing by, Frank entered the enclosed room, the handcuffs tucked into his usual hiding spot, within his belt in the back and with his shirt over them. He paused, willing himself to overcome the shock of seeing Nancy curled on the floor with some minor cuts and bruises, staring at the wall. Frank had never seen such dejection before, even in criminals receiving harsh sentences.

Frank took off his suit jacket slowly, letting it fall on the floor. He'd be less intimidating to her that way. He rolled up his cuffs and walked slowly around the room, wanting her to notice on her own that he was there.

After thirty more seconds Frank paused. He stopped in front of Nancy, next to the wall. He crouched in front of her, several feet away, not fully sitting down so he could get up right away if he needed to. Nancy slowly turned to face him. Frank felt a twinge of alarm as their glances met, and he recognized the emotion contained in her expression. Rage. She may not have recognized George, but she certainly recognized him.

"Frank," Nancy said to him, almost spitting out his name.

Frank steeled himself to act in professional mode, before his emotions made him say something that would only make this worse. "Do you know where you are, or what happened?" Frank asked calmly.

"I know who's in front of me right now," Nancy said, standing up. "You always have to be the hero."

Frank stood up with her, knowing that he needed to stay on his guard. His instincts told him why Nancy was channeling her anger toward him: her loss would never have happened if they had never been intimate.

Nancy took a step toward him. Frank knew from professional experience that he could not back down. "Don't do this, Nancy," he said, both a warning and a plea in his voice. He put one foot slightly in front of the other, his weight in his back leg. Just in case.

Nancy raised her arms to a boxer's stance, one arm for defense, one out for offense. Frank mirrored her. They had both been trained by the same karate instructor, and knew that Frank was stronger, but Nancy was just a little bit faster.

"You shouldn't have come," Nancy whispered, and struck first. Frank easily blocked her straight shoulder punch, and side stepped her sweep. Frank noted her mild methods of attacking. Was Nancy only trying to prove a point, or was she too enraged to be able to attack properly?

Nancy moved in with a jab punch series, which Frank again blocked. He didn't want to make any offensive moves, but knew that he needed to get a grip on her arm in order to put the handcuffs on. They continued their cat-and-mouse dance, circling the room slowly, performing the same moves that they had practiced in karate together. Finally Frank saw an opening, stepping to the side and pushing Nancy's calf as she attempted a front kick. Now Frank was standing behind Nancy as she stumbled, unprepared for this new move that Frank had learned in karate class without her. Frank was able to click the handcuffs on Nancy's right wrist, but she twisted out of his grip and retreated before he had access to the other arm.

Nancy's eyes focused on the handcuffs that suddenly dangled from her right wrist, her eyes glazed with surprise. The handcuffs further infuriated her, and she faced Frank with renewed energy. "Get out," she hissed threateningly.

"Not this time," Frank answered. He lunged forward suddenly and grabbed the dangling handcuffs, pulling on them slightly. This twisted Nancy to the side and off balance so Frank could reach for her other wrist. Pivoting behind Nancy once again, Frank needed just another second to attach the handcuffs to her left hand. That second was all Nancy needed to take a step forward and deliver a high back kick, connecting her foot with a very sensitive part of Frank's anatomy.

The air expelled forcefully from Frank's lungs, and he stumbled away from her. He leaned into the wall, sliding down onto his knees. Even though she hadn't hit him squarely, it still blurred his vision. His head hurt and he felt nauseated. And he knew he still had to concentrate on Nancy's shadow, approaching him once again.

Frank faced the ground, panting, doubled over on the floor. He had to think fast. _Forgive me, Nancy_. He looked up and into her eyes as she came to a stop next to him. "Are you going to hurt me like you hurt our child?"

Nancy gasped in horror, and clamped her hands over her mouth. Frank pulled her down to his level with her right arm, then turned her around and fastened the handcuffs behind her back. Nancy continued whimpering, her eyes again becoming glazed, the fight leaving her. She sat on the floor and Frank leaned back against the wall, taking a minute to become composed enough to leave the hospital.

As soon as he was remotely ready, Frank slowly, painfully stood up, and guided Nancy to standing as well. She weakly cooperated, and Frank put a strong arm around her waist, supporting her when needed. He gathered his suit jacket and exited the room. The orderly that was standing guard handed over Nancy's purse that George had left, and used his badge on a side exit so Frank and Nancy would not have to walk back through the emergency room.

Frank opened his car's side door for Nancy, guiding her inside, and shut the door without taking off her handcuffs. He got into the driver's side and fastened her seatbelt, then his own. She could try to escape if she wanted to, but he would have plenty of warning, with her arms together and behind her.

Frank fishtailed out of the hospital parking lot, very similarly to how Bess had two weeks previously, and made an illegal call while driving. "Hi George," he said, business-like, the phone to his ear. "No, don't bother coming down. I already got her. You couldn't have helped, sorry. I'm going to take her back with me, I'll keep you posted. And, umm…if you could please come up with a story to keep Carson Drew off the scent for a couple of days, I'd appreciate it." After a few more logistics, Frank hung up.

Amid the whirl of guilty confusion, Nancy felt desperately tired. Frank drove without speaking. Life was too complicated, too painful to sort out at the moment, and Nancy closed her eyes, hoping for escape. She felt a hand on her right shoulder, pulling her up, and felt a rolled-up sweatshirt placed between her head and the door. She leaned into it gratefully. Nancy only opened her eyes once more before falling asleep, and saw Frank wiping away the silent tears that streaked his face.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Thanks most passionately to CorkyBookworm1, max2013, and SparklingSoul for regularly reviewing, also various "guests"—so badly wish I could message you! There are ten chapters left, and things are starting to come together. I hope this final rising action makes you glad that you stuck with it.

ndndnd

Nancy woke up several hours later, wincing from a headache. She noticed that she also had a neckache, backache, and armache, and remembered why: Frank had never taken the handcuffs off. Shame and embarrassment paralyzed her system as she recollected bits and pieces of the last twenty-four hours. Stealing a glance at Frank, Nancy thought of all the questions she should be asking, the things she should be saying. She stayed silent, however, allowing Frank to take the lead.

Frank hadn't even glanced toward her. He looked at least a decade older than his twenty-six years. "We hit some traffic a couple of hours ago that set us back. I'm exhausted. I'm going to find us a motel room."

Nancy knew that they were only an hour away from home. "It's okay, Frank, we can go to your apartment. I'll be fine." Their child had been conceived at Frank's apartment.

Frank looked at her sharply. He had a right to be suspicious. Nancy knew that it would be a long time until she earned his trust again.

He continued driving, however, drinking another of the five-hour energies that he always kept in the driver's side door. The two were still silent, words feeling irrelevant to the situation. Eventually Frank pulled into his designated parking spot in his apartment complex.

Frank stood out of the car slowly, his joints aching beyond his years. He realized that they had nothing but Nancy's purse to take into the house; he'd left with nothing, and Nancy's weekend bag was still at George's.

Walking around to the passenger side, Frank unlocked the door and helped Nancy balance, as she could only use her cramped legs to exit the car. Frank turned her around and unlocked her handcuffs. Nancy rubbed her wrists as they went into Frank's apartment together.

Nancy entered Frank's bachelor abode, smelling the combined scents of old pizza boxes, wet towels, and cinnamon air freshener. She took in her surroundings: pleasantly lived in, with more nerdy paraphernalia than most other young men's residences. Frank's bed and couch were both in the living room so that Frank could use the one bedroom as an office. Frank's belongings were somewhat haphazard but not messy.

They took turns in the bathroom, and Nancy took an awkward seat on Frank's couch. Her face flamed with shame.

Expression unreadable, Frank sat on the couch next to Nancy and rubbed her neck. He rubbed in between her shoulder blades, the sections that had been pinched from having her arms behind her back all day. He rubbed her low back, turned her around, and massaged blood back into her chafed wrists. Then he guided Nancy to the bed and tucked her in. He got the extra blanket from the closet and put it at the foot of the bed. He got a glass of water from the kitchen and put it on the bedside nightstand.

Then he walked into his office to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt, came out and lay on the couch, and was asleep in one minute.

Nancy lay where she was, listening to his soft snoring. He hadn't yelled at her or even given a lecture. He hadn't hidden his car keys, cell phone, wallet, or kitchen knives.

Nancy got out of bed. She took the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over Frank, making sure his feet were covered. She closed the Venetian blinds extra tightly so no sunlight would be in his eyes.

Then she returned to the bed and went to sleep.

ndndnd

Nancy woke up some time later. It was pitch black outside. She had no idea what time it was. She turned toward Frank's alarm clock but shut her eyes just in time, realizing that she didn't want to know. She wanted to suspend time, create a safety cocoon where the only place that existed in the world was Frank's apartment, and the only people were her and Frank.

Smiling at her foolishness, she turned the alarm clock to face the wall, and took down the tiny clock that hung on the wall. She walked into the kitchen and cleared the microwave clock. Then she doubled over in pain.

Nancy gasped at the intense stomach pain, clutching at herself. Was this a side effect of the sedating injection yesterday? Would she have to wake up Frank? A moment later she recognized it for what it was: ravenous hunger.

Nancy ran to the cupboards, pulling out a variety of processed, empty calories. Settling on crackers, Nancy leaned over the trash can and shoveled them into her mouth as quickly and unladylike as she possibly could until the hunger returned to normal proportions.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she returned to the refrigerator and cupboard, this time to create something more substantial. Frank would be hungry, too. Raising her eyebrows at the interesting selection, she chose the only three items of any nutritional value: eggplant, onion, and cauliflower, and created a stir-fry with rice. She would have to lecture Frank sometime about exchanging white rice for brown.

Nancy ate a heaping portion, also saving a generous helping for Frank. She glanced at the mess she'd made and washed all the dishes as quietly as possible, including the pile that had been in the sink when she got there. She scraped the worst of the stains out of the refrigerator the best she could, wiped the counters, and organized the food in the cupboards.

Then, the stir fry continuing to simmer to try to keep it hot for Frank, Nancy sat at the small kitchen table and began to write. She filled the small notepad that Frank kept magnetized on his refrigerator, went in search of a legal pad, and sat back down and resumed. Her brow creased and she bit her lip in thought.

"Damn, I forgot what color my counters were."

Nancy whirled to see Frank standing at the entrance to the kitchen, smiling bemusedly. He yawned and scratched his stomach. Nancy hurried to the cabinet and got a plate for him. Returning to the stove, she stamped her foot in disappointment. "Darn it, Frank, everything's all wilted and congealed!"

"You made that for me? It sure beats what I usually eat, and anyway, it's my fault for sleeping so long." Frank moved to put an appreciative arm around Nancy, and stopped himself just in time. He sat at the table and she served him. He ate hungrily. "It's fabulous, Nancy, I mean it," he said between mouthfuls.

Nancy sat with him while he ate. Frank yawned again and stretched. Nancy noticed. "Oh, whoops, maybe I should have…uh…made some…"

Frank smiled knowingly at her. "Coffee? You'd need to know if it was remotely toward morning in order to make coffee."

"Yeah, about the clocks…" Nancy shrugged good-naturedly. "I just thought it would be fun if we didn't know. The night can last as long or little as it wants to."

"Fine by me." Frank pushed his plate away. "Now. What are you working on?"

"I'm making lists, charts, everything. You know me."

Frank inwardly leaped for joy. He knew that Nancy was in her element when she was classifying information. "About what?"

"About…me. Everything that's happened. Things that I want."

Frank smiled at her. "I can stay or I can leave. If you're on a roll, I don't want to interrupt."

"No, I want you to stay. That's one of the decisions I've made." Nancy took a piece of paper from the pile and put it on top. "My social work professor got it partly right. He told me to embrace my feelings, as they demand to be felt, and set aside the detective work for now…however, I believe that if I analyze my feelings in the right way, I can get to the bottom of what exactly is going on. I made a list as to what I believe is information to be shared with friends, and information that I do not believe the general public needs to know. There will be no personal information column, at least until I know I'm better. I want you, Bess, George, and my dad to know everything."

Frank nodded. "You're choosing a good group of people to support you." He didn't say what they were both thinking: Bess had just gotten married and George lived hundreds of miles away. It was really just her dad and him.

Nancy met his eyes again. "I'm also not going to keep track of who knows what, contain information, whatever. Everybody keeps saying that I'm attention-seeking, but it's actually the opposite—I'm trying to keep people from knowing things, which just makes people all the more curious about what I'm hiding. Therefore it is your discretion who you tell what to. I know you're close to Joe."

Frank didn't deny that he had never kept a secret from Joe in his life, and couldn't imagine being able to now. "Don't worry about my brother knowing anything, Nancy. He's being snippety right now, but he likes you a lot." He pulled the sheet toward him. "So what made what column?"

"The fact that I have some kind of temporary mental health diagnosis is public information, as well as that that is the reason why I gave up detective work. The hospitalizations are something that people will find out about, but they don't need to know the triggers. The nature of the diagnosis and the miscarriage are our information."

Frank nodded. "All of this sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

Nancy looked resignedly at him. "But this includes…telling my father about the miscarriage."

Frank groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "Your father will love me even more. But yeah, I agree, it needs to be done. What's the next list?"

"It's a list of my psych hospitalizations, and what I believe triggered it. If I can deal with or avoid the triggers, then it makes sense that I can avoid it happening in the future if I carefully follow a plan." Nancy put down her pen and looked at Frank with determination. "Frank, I never want this weekend to repeat itself. I am so sorry."

Frank squeezed her hand supportively. "I know you are, Nan."

"This weekend will be the last," Nancy said firmly. "I'm giving myself a major incentive. If I ever go into the hospital again…"

Frank waited for her to finish the sentence.

Nancy sighed, looking miserable just thinking about the prospect. "Then I will sign up for outpatient therapy. The idea is repugnant to me, paying money to hear a stranger tell me things that any reasonable person already knows. I take my clients to therapy. The therapists are nice, but not always useful."

"Nevertheless, that is still a reasonable plan," Frank said. His hand was still on Nancy's. "You want to know that you're doing everything that you possibly can. Hopefully it won't come to that, though." Frank suddenly turned very serious. He leaned forward, very close to her. "But before we change the subject about the hospital, I expect to only have to say this once, Nancy. Obviously what I said to you in that room was a desperate way to stay safe and get you out of there. That statement has _no_ truth value."

Nancy's shoulders rounded slightly, subdued. "I know that's what you think, Frank. It's just convincing myself that will be the hard part."

Frank stayed where he was a moment longer, in case she still needed to talk. Nancy said nothing, though, and once Frank decided that his words had sunk in he sat up straight again. "One of the major things on _my_ hypothetical list is to talk you out of that lie. You didn't harm our baby, that drug dealer did, and I'm sure our daughter agrees."

Nancy smiled painfully at him and looked down at her sheet. "Listen to my list of triggers. I have been in the hospital four times over the last year. It was always only for two days, meaning that as soon as I got over the episode, I was at least capable of taking care of myself in society. October 2014 was because of the miscarriage"—Frank noticed that she only said the word with a slight tremor in her voice this time—"January 2015 was because of the stress of starting a new job, I had heard a very traumatizing story from a new client about her horrible family secrets, and when work was over for the day I just walked and walked until someone found me in the middle of the night. The summer was fine but now we have these last two hospitalizations this month, separated by two weeks. Two weeks ago there was something about one of Poe's poems that hit me the wrong way, they made me think about the baby, and then on Saturday, the problem was that…" Nancy blushed, not looking forward to explaining.

"I know all about it, dear," Frank said gently. "I understand how the coincidence about my niece's name must have been quite a shock. Also, this month is the anniversary of the miscarriage, plus your mother's death."

Nancy looked up at him with a frown. "Is it really? My dad and I don't memorialize it, we just drive a wreath over to her tombstone at Christmas. He said it's because he didn't want me to have to grieve all over again every year growing up, he wanted me to think of my mom on a happy day instead. Did I tell you what day my mom died?"

"You must have, at one of my family events or something," Frank said, frowning. "My mom said last night that's why she thought you got upset."

"Nice of her to remember," Nancy said. She did some quick math in her head. "Wow, twenty years. Wish I could have known you, Mom."

"It's criminal that you had to grow up without a mother, Nancy." They sat in silence, each thinking their own thoughts. Frank found himself daydreaming, thinking of metaphors for the way that Nancy's reddish-blonde hair cascaded like a waterfall from the crown of her head, then pooled around her shoulders. He jerked himself out of these reveries and stood up. "And now it's time for you to take a break. I'm sore myself, so I can only imagine how you are, with spending a traumatic night at the hospital and then driving home in handcuffs. I'm going to draw you a bath."

Nancy opened her mouth to object, but found that the idea of a bath sounded perfect to her. Frank left the room. She heard the sound of running water, and couldn't concentrate any further on her lists. Several minutes later Frank called her to the bathroom. Nancy squealed with delight when she saw the steam rising from the bath water, and thick, soaking bath bubbles almost overflowing the tub.

Frank grinned when he saw her reaction, and couldn't resist kissing her forehead on the way out. Once the door was firmly closed, Nancy shed her clothing in record speed, hissing in both pleasure and pain as the water turned her skin a rosy shade of pink.

She closed her eyes, feeling fully relaxed. The silence enfolded her, and for once, it was pleasant to be able to hear her own thoughts. She felt safe. And also, a minute later, was surprised to find herself lonely.

Nancy only let herself think for a split second, and then called out before she changed her mind. "Frank?"

He opened the door but didn't come inside. "Yeah?"

"Come in here."

Frank hesitated, then complied. He couldn't see anything due to the ridiculous volume of bubbles that he'd put in the bath. "Do you need a towel or something?"

"No…" Nancy absentmindedly played with a ball of bubbles between her hands. "I was just thinking that you must be a lot sorer than I am. You drove to Richmond, then turned around and drove right back."

Frank's breath caught.

Nancy shrugged. "Do you want to come in?"

The "are you sure?" died on Frank's lips before it was uttered. There were limits to being a gentleman. Frank took off his shirt and sweatpants, but kept his boxers on as he sat down slowly, gingerly, getting used to the water temperature. The next few seconds were especially awkward, as they had to adjust themselves so that they both fit. Frank being bigger, Nancy pulled her knees back toward her, then put her legs over Frank's, crossing at the thighs. Nancy giggled first, and Frank smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, that was pretty much the end of my plan," Nancy said, closing her eyes. "Now that you're in here…we sit here, I guess."

"Okay." Amid excited feelings of shock, Frank felt his muscles loosen involuntarily, and he dipped deeper into the tub.

Nancy leveled her mouth with the water and blew. Frank laughed out loud, knowing that Nancy had no concept of how her blowing bubbles affected him. "Nice," he said. He rested his hands on her knees.

Nancy poked her head above the water. "So what's going on with you, Frank? Geez, we haven't talked about you in a year and a half."

"Me?" Frank shrugged. "I'm fine. My work is my life. I don't have much of a social life these days."

"Friends—so overrated." Nancy smiled.

Frank was enjoying this higher frequency of smiles from Nancy. "Exactly. What you see is what you get with me."

"Then how is your case going?"

Frank looked at her warningly. "I'm not telling you about work. That's the last thing you need right now."

"When I do get better, it'll be nice not to be treated like a fragile piece of porcelain," Nancy said with an eye roll, but didn't pursue the subject. "Then tell me about your family."

"Dad got promoted—"

"I know all that. Tell me something deep. Show me how to do self-analysis."

Frank tilted his head back and focused on the ceiling in thought. "Not too much profound stuff, Nancy. Joe is himself…crap, I should call him, but not now…and Mom and Dad are spending more time together than they have in their whole marriage. My dad is actually enjoying the benefits of bureaucracy. I guess he thinks of it as a kind of retirement. My mom is getting more involved in church."

"Church?" Nancy said, frowning.

"Yeah, Joe and I were surprised, too. They're going to that old church across the street from the grocery store, you know that one just a few minutes from their house? I guess they're at that stage of life." Frank shrugged.

Nancy thought, swirling bubbles with her hands. "It makes sense. Good for them. I wonder sometimes how I'd be different if I'd grown up in the church."

Frank cocked an eyebrow. "You'd get to be bored silly for an hour a week."

"Not if you really believe it. I mean, what's the worst that happens? We all die and then find out whether or not we were right. Might as well believe in something, increase our odds."

Frank gave a small smile. He squeezed her knees affectionately. "Do you want to have a funeral for the baby, Nancy? Maybe a ritual would help. You'll think that the baby is at least in a safe place now."

Nancy thought. That wasn't a bad idea. "You know what…maybe later. Just you and me. Maybe we could…write letters to the baby, too. One of my first hospital social workers suggested that."

Frank nodded. "Yeah. Just…don't be mad if my letters are a lot different than yours."

"We'll have to let each other grieve in whatever style we need to." Nancy sighed. "Maybe I'm just being ridiculous. Women have miscarriages worldwide every day, and not all of us go nutzoid."

"You finally found out what it feels like to be maternal, and then it was taken away from you again."

"True. And it still hurts so, so badly. But I'm at the point where I'm wondering if something else is going on, too. I mean, blacking out and losing time from seeing a baby picture? What would Poe think about what's really going on in my subconscious?"

"That's a trigger too, Nan, you reading that scary stuff." Frank drained some of the water, and then turned around and ran some more hot water so the water wouldn't get cold. "Nancy, if you don't mind my asking…what is conversion disorder? I checked a book out from the library, but it was too horrifying to read. I'm not good with this emotional stuff."

Nancy looked at him pointedly. "Now why do I find that so hard to believe?"

Frank blushed.

Nancy answered his question. "Let's see if I can remember the exact words from the pamphlet. Neurological symptoms without an organic identifiable cause…symptoms arise from stressful situations, and the anxiety 'converts' into physical symptoms." Nancy dunked her head below the water, then came back up. "Basically, when I'm super freaked out, I have these fits and sort of half-dissociate. It used to be known as hysteria."

Frank rolled his eyes. "A flattering term."

"Yeah. I've had full dissociations before, but I have to admit that what happened in the hospital wasn't totally out of my control. I was kind of….zoned out, plus the aftereffects of the medication, and then I saw you and I was so angry. It was like you were responsible for all of it." Nancy trailed her fingers distractedly down Frank's calf. "I'm sorry, Frank."

Frank leaned forward to take Nancy's hand. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. "Thanks, Nancy. And you only had to say it this once."

Nancy smiled gratefully. She found herself analyzing Frank's facial features. Suddenly her eyes widened in realization. "I've finally made my father proud and took his advice. There is now one person that I've confided everything to. You. I have told you everything, and it is such a relief." She didn't add that her father had not wanted Frank to be the chosen confidant.

Frank grinned. "I've been hoping to hear you say that for a long time. And thanks, too, for forgiving me for the obnoxious way I obtained some information."

Nancy peered at him teasingly. "If you give me your entire life savings, I might not tell Bess. I was too worn out at the time to be properly offended. But I shouldn't have given you reasons to be so suspicious, either, so with full communication from now on it shouldn't happen again."

"Thanks, Nancy." Frank squeezed her hand once more, then leaned back. "So what causes this conversion disorder?"

"That's the thing—it's usually a result of childhood trauma, suddenly catching up with someone later in life. Emotions demand to be felt. But I had a happy childhood."

Frank studied her. "But consider what line of work your family raised you in. And how your mother died."

"But I can't even remember back that far." Their eyes met meaningfully. "Right?" Nancy added, with less assertiveness.

"I guess it's about the baby then," Frank said. He hesitated, knowing that he may have pushed Nancy too far already, but this current receptive mood of hers might not last forever. He knew what else had happened about a year ago. "Um, Nancy…there's not any chance that…this is the result of…some kind of sexual issue? You and I were doing just fine for the first time in our lives, and then….the night before you left…then you wouldn't talk to me at all during your mission. Then you lost the baby, and it's been rocky ever since." Frank carefully checked Nancy's reactions as he spoke, afraid that she would become upset, but her expression remained neutral. "Forgive me," he hurried on, "I know I don't know what I'm talking about, but the only psychologist I remember from Psych 101 is Freud."

"There was nothing wrong with the night before I left," Nancy said.

Frank froze, digesting that comment. Nancy realized how it sounded and began to blush. She searched around her for a distraction, and found herself facing the window bemusedly. "Hey, look at that, the sun's coming up," she said bemusedly. She gasped suddenly. "I just did the math. It's Monday morning. I've got to go to work."

Frank's jaw dropped. "You can't possibly be serious."

"I am." Nancy moved to get out of the tub, then remembered her situation. "Oh…uh…"

Frank took his cue and got out of the tub first, drying off and leaving so Nancy could get out. He was in dry clothes and pacing as Nancy emerged in his bathrobe. He was scowling in annoyance, but Nancy was ready for him.

"Honestly, Nancy," he said, "all these resolutions you made, and you're going back to work with no rest? What if something happens while you're at work? This…particular job is not worth your sanity."

"Make fun of my line of work if you must, Frank, but never my clients. Can't have one without the other." Nancy attempted to brush her hair with Frank's comb, but it became hopelessly entangled. "Oh, no, I'm going to have to go home for some work clothes. My father will interrogate me as soon as I walk in the door."

"No," Frank said, "you have some here, remember?"

Nancy stared at him, then moved toward his dresser drawer in his office. Her "emergency" overnight supplies were in the second drawer down, still there from a year and a half ago.

Dressing privately, she met Frank by the door. "I'm so sorry, but I'll need a ride. Then you should come back here and get some more rest."

"How can you possibly lecture me about resting when you are going to _work_ right now?" Frank almost snapped.

"We have the same personality, Frank. Don't tell me that you'd want to sit around if you were in my shoes. I'd only get worse. Please. All I need is a ride. We'll talk more later."

Frank could tell that there was no changing her mind. _At least she'll be forced to accept a ride home from work as well,_ he thought. He took his car keys from the peg by the door.


	13. Chapter 13

"She kicked you _where_?" Joe asked again vehemently, eyes sparking with anger.

Frank turned on his brother, beginning to match Joe's mood. "Don't perseverate on that, Joe. I'm not blind, I'm not a fool, and I know what Nancy was like the rest of the weekend. This was the breakthrough that she needed to really start figuring things out."

"And so this is the plan that she came up with. Immediately spending the day with psychotic people who can relate to her."

"Don't make me regret telling you everything, Joe," Frank said warningly. _Everything except Nancy freaking out at your daughter's photograph._

"Actually, I don't think you have. Why the hell is the bathroom practically flooded, and wet towels lying around?"

"None of your damn business," Frank said, taking a menacing step forward. "Do I ask about your intimate affairs? We share almost everything, Joe, but that's the one area we don't need each other for."

Joe began to pace, running a hand through his hair. "I'm starting to wonder which one of the two of you is more delusional."

"You know what?" Frank asked. "Time for you to get out of my apartment. Don't pick a fight with me because you're already a cynic."

"All right, then let me summarize the situation for you like a case file. 'Twenty-four-year-old female hospitalized yet again for psychosis, rescued by frantic ex-boyfriend, pardon me, ex-hook-up, male gets a swift kick in the groin but still sweeps the young nutso off her feet and out the door—'"

Joe never saw the fist coming simply because he wasn't expecting it, but suddenly found himself clutching his nose. Blood dripped onto his shirt. Frank opened the door and gave Joe a powerful shove. Joe slammed into the hallway wall and then slid onto the floor, trying to staunch the blood. Frank threw out a box of tissues and shut the door.

Two hours later, Frank received a flagged email that made his heart sink and his blood boil at the same time. It was a summons to Internal Affairs.

Nancy found herself giggling for minutes on end as she drove along the county road, thinking of the evil eye her supervisor Melissa had given her at morning meeting. _Have you been checking on Maria regularly, Nancy?_ Melissa had asked, in a tone of voice that was supposed to be authoritative. _The landlord has been calling, saying her apartment is a wreck again._ What a small problem, Nancy thought. Life only had to throw a couple of curveballs in order to put problems into perspective.

Nancy parked her car and knocked on Maria's door, walking in without waiting for an answer. "Maria, it's Nancy," she yelled. Nancy looked around her, spying pizza boxes, food spills all over the carpet and kitchen, and overturned cigarette ashtrays. And of course, the empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, and disorganized meds. Nancy helped herself to cleaning supplies from under the sink.

Maria hurried from the bathroom, dripping wet with a bathrobe on. She gaped at Nancy in shock. "Oh, I uh…didn't realize you were coming…"

"Yup," Nancy said, straightening. "It smells like a rose in here, and looks even better. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Maria's eyes wandered to the cleaning supplies. "I'm so sorry, Nancy, I have an appointment this morning."

"Yes, you do. With me. Now. The state called, they said they're going to take your housing voucher away if you don't keep this place clean. The board of health is getting concerned."

Maria's eyes bugged in disbelief. She searched Nancy's body language for a sign that she was joking. "What? This is my place! This is against my civil rights!"

Nancy shrugged noncommittally. "You can call the state and try to fight it, if you want. I'm here to help now, but I can leave. My schedule is booked for the next couple of weeks, though."

"No— _no_!" Maria said, taking a frantic step toward Nancy. "Just let me get dressed first."

"Nope." Nancy threw a trash bag, and Maria caught it. "The second you stop working, I stop working. Start off by picking up all the trash." Nancy sprayed Febreeze in Maria's general direction.

Maria adjusted the towel on her head, looking at Nancy strangely. The next few minutes of cleaning were painfully awkward for Maria, but Nancy seemed to have forgotten Maria was there. When Nancy turned her back to start on the dishes, Maria left to get dressed in the bedroom. When Maria returned, Nancy was sitting calmly in a kitchen chair. "Ready to resume?" Nancy asked. "I'll start a minute after you do."

Maria nervously bent to the coffee table, gingerly placing the trash in the trash bag as if it were fragile, acutely aware of Nancy's eyes on her. "Are you okay, Nancy?" Maria asked. "I thought I was the one with the problem. Something seems off."

"Yes, you're right," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Something is definitely missing." She walked over to Maria's radio. She turned it on to 102.7 Rock, and Nickelback blasted from the tiny device. A second later, loud, rapid pounding sounded from the wall that Maria shared with neighbors. Nancy turned the music up.

Maria's mouth hung open, and a laugh escaped involuntarily. "Oh my god, Nancy! They're going to call the cops on me, not you!"

Nancy grinned. "But we're both in here, right, and it's my fingerprints on the radio. They'll bring a locked van for you and a locked van for me. I'm looking forward to seeing those nice young men in their clean white coats."

Maria giggled like a schoolgirl, and returned to picking up trash with renewed energy. Nancy used the top of the mop handle as a microphone as she sang along with the song. The apartment was just beginning to look sanitary enough for human habitation when the doorbell rang.

Nancy turned the radio off as Maria scampered toward the door, ready for trouble. From her position in the kitchen, she could see a change come over Maria as she only cracked the door open slightly—Maria appeared to cower, her voice subdued as she spoke to a gruff, middle-aged man.

"Payday is on Friday this month, I'll have it to you by then," Maria said nervously. "I swear to you this time, I swear. My social worker's here, I've got to go." She shut the door and turned around, searching Nancy's face to see how much she'd heard.

"I heard it all, Maria," Nancy said, a hard glint in her eye. "And I will give you direct advice this time. Pay that man what you owe him. And then never speak to him again."

Maria burst into tears, sitting on the couch. "I'm sorry, Nancy, please don't be mad. You're the only one who—"

"No, we're not going through this dance again," Nancy said firmly. "There's nothing I can tell you about recovery that you haven't already heard. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. It's up to you to decide what you're going to try differently in your life. On my end, I'm done with words right now." Nancy stood in a basic karate stance, hands up.

Maria stared up at her in horror. " _What_?"

"Time for self-defense class," Nancy said simply. "Stand up. You're right-handed, right? Therefore your right leg should be in front, with most of your weight in the back leg. This is so that you can easily kick with the front leg, step back in retreat, or pivot. Right hand is in front of you to strike, left hand is to protect. Come on, Abbs, I'm not teaching your booze bottles. Get up and mimic me."

Maria slowly, cautiously stood up. She felt decidedly foolish as she assumed something resembling a karate stance. Nancy showed her how to punch, using power from the shoulder.

"I know what you're thinking," Nancy said after a few minutes. "You're not physically strong enough to face these men. Let me teach you a move. If you grab both arms like this, all you have to do is pull down while bringing your knee up. It will force his face into your knee, and momentum is on your side."

"Cool," Maria said, practicing tentatively.

"And remember: while men have most of their power in their upper body, women have most of their power in their thighs, and we are also more flexible. If a man's hips begin to approach yours, adjust your feet so they are squarely on his hip bones. Then shove off powerfully, both feet equally, not a kick but a push. You'll be able to flip a man off you that's three times your weight.

"And finally," Nancy concluded, getting onto the floor on her back to demonstrate, "if someone doesn't have a gun and you find yourself in a corner, lie on the floor and kick out repeatedly like this. Think of it as a bicycle-kick. Older women have been known to keep attackers at bay for over a half-hour with this move. And the phrase to yell is "Ki-yah, it's an attack, call the cops." If you yell "help," no one will hear you because the 'h' and the 'p' are not enunciated."

"But I won't practice that part now, or the white vans really _will_ be here." Maria giggled and Nancy couldn't help but join in. As Nancy got into her car to head back to the office and figure out a clinical note based on her interesting morning, she felt an energetic, liberating sense of accomplishment. She was sure that she'd broken a few dozen policies and procedures, but Maria had appeared just a little more empowered by the time Nancy had left. She couldn't wait to tell Frank about it at 4:30. And her decision to rejoin karate class.

At 11:30 Frank breezed into his father's office, plopping into the nearest chair. Frank had to walk by Joe's office on the way in, and Joe had seen him and followed him into the office. Both young men sat across from their father, who had no intention of making either of them feel more comfortable.

"What the hell is going on," Fenton breathed threateningly.

"Frank's having some kind of a breakdown, I don't know," Joe said sarcastically.

"Joe wouldn't know decent priorities if they bit him in the ass. What is he doing at work on Monday morning when he just had a baby on Friday?" Frank asked, not looking at his brother.

"Don't you dare bring my daughter—"Joe started angrily.

"You ladies done?" Fenton interrupted, looking from Joe to Frank. "Frank, Joe walks into work an hour ago with his face obviously turned the other way, like I'm not going to run after him and follow up. Joe came by your apartment to check on you before work this morning, and you fly off the handle at his opinions on Nancy? Your email to me on Saturday said that everything in Richmond had gone according to plan. You never said anything about Nancy's violence, releasing her to work at a high-risk job, or you just forgetting to come to work on Monday morning. Or the need to punch your brother in the face and possibly compromise an investigation six months in the making. You're too far along in this case for your supervisor to assign anyone else."

Frank had almost blown steam out of his ears in the effort to wait for his father to finish his speech. "Everything's fine, Dad. It only took a few minutes to get Nancy out of the hospital. She spent the rest of the weekend recovering—" Frank ignored Joe's snort—"and I'm not seeing why the three of us as civilized human beings are allowed to go to work in the morning, and she's not. So I'm a few hours late. Write me up."

Fenton nodded. "Good idea, I'll do that. And now, since you both are assigned to a very high-risk, high-profile case, let's do some kind of hokey therapy so you two can mend your differences long enough to be able to work together and focus. All it takes is one slip-up and we'll be conducting your funeral, as well as who knows how many innocent civilians."

"Then I'll go first," Joe said. "I don't want an apology for this morning. All I want is for Frank to acknowledge that there is some slight chance that enough is enough. Nancy is many things, but she is not stupid. She will get over this if she's determined to, with or without Frank destroying his own life to try to save her."

Frank faced his brother, his tone of voice calmer than Joe's. "That may be true and thank you for your concern, however, as I said before, there will always be a case, and sometimes other important things in life will not wait. You can insult _me_ if you want, Joe, but call Nancy names and you will get another fist in the face. I don't disrespect your wife."

Joe softened. He'd never been able to stay angry with Frank for very long. "Fair enough. But we can still disagree." The two shook hands.

Fenton watched in silence. He'd always been amazed at how quickly his sons resolved their differences, once they really listened to one another. "Grand." He nodded his head in Joe's direction. "Go put some ice on that. I need to speak to Frank."

Joe was not happy about the curt dismissal, but complied.

Fenton waited until the door was shut, then leaned his forearms on his desk. "I would expect this kind of bleeding heart crap from Joe, but not from you," he began.

Frank's temper flared. "Joe and I just settled our argument in front of you, and you're still speaking to me like this? I know that you're trying to shame me into getting back to work as usual, but that kind of comment just pisses me off, Dad."

"Back in my day, I would expect to be in hot water with IA if I punched my partner in the face," Fenton said icily. He put up a hand to stop Frank from responding. "I did give you my assistance this weekend, did I not?"

Frank uncrossed his arms. "Yes," he said, subdued. "And Nancy has also not caused a problem."

"Yet. Good. My number one argument to you is this: If Nancy were well, she would never, ever, _ever_ want you to neglect a case in order to figure out a relationship. She would rather die than risk the lives of innocent people."

"That's true now even when she's not well," Frank said quietly.

"Nancy is one of a kind, and I can see why you're hung up on her. However, I expect you to be focused _solely_ on this case from now on."

"Like you neglected Mom all those years?" Frank shot back. "Or how Carson Drew sat back and allowed his wife to be killed on a risky mission? Work does _not_ always come first, Dad."

Fenton flinched as Frank spoke. Color began to drain from his face. He swallowed with an effort. "Get out," he managed.

Frank didn't need to be told twice. "Damn, Dad," Frank snapped in parting, standing up. "All I needed was a pep talk. Not this guilt game."

As soon as Frank was clearly out of sight, Fenton rushed around his desk, twisting his Venetian blinds for full privacy. He flicked off his light switch and couldn't even make it back around his desk, sinking into the nearest office chair. His leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

Fenton forced himself to breathe evenly. He shook, his stomach nauseated. Several minutes passed, and as soon as Fenton was able, he slowly walked around his desk and sat down. He pressed the speakerphone on and dialed an extension.

"Fenton?" a voice asked in surprise.

"Morning, shrink, can you come to my office please?" Fenton asked wearily. "Nothing official, I'd just like a personal favor."

Derrick, a criminal profiler, hurried into the office a few minutes later. He'd been so surprised by the request that he'd come immediately. Besides, he owed his career to Fenton's connections. "What's going on?" Derrick asked cautiously. He looked pointedly at the light switch.

"It hasn't been my Monday, let's say that," Fenton said with a sigh. "The lights are off because I'm getting a headache. I'm just hoping that you can do me a _personal_ favor— _off the record_ —and give me a psychological profile on a young woman. Tell me what you think she's capable of doing."

Derrick's facial features relaxed. _That's it?_ he thought with relief. "Sure, Fenton. Give me everything that you have so I can get started."

"Let me print out her basic information from the computer. She's in her mid-twenties, did excellent detective work up until a year ago, when something traumatic must have happened to her. Changed careers, everything, been in and out of brief psych hospital stays."

"Okay," Derrick nodded, taking the face sheet from Fenton. Derrick flinched when he saw the photo. "Wow. I recognize her from news stories a few years ago."

"Yes," Fenton nodded. "The infamous Nancy Drew. Tell me how stable you think she is, and what her upcoming behavior might look like."


	14. Chapter 14

Nancy tapped her foot impatiently. She knew it was highly frowned upon to wait by the time clock to punch out, but she had no intention of staying even until 4:31.

Butterflies fluttering in her stomach, Nancy almost tripped in her haste to get out to the parking lot. She saw Frank standing next to his car, caramel-brown hair tousled from the wind, the sun beginning to set behind him. He looked like he belonged in a postcard. Nancy forced herself to slow her walking, not wanting to look or feel ridiculous. But when Frank opened his arms wide, Nancy broke into a grin and ran into him at full speed.

Frank absorbed her weight with a small grunt. "Well, damn you're pleased to see me," he teased, spinning her against his car door. He caressed her face, ending with his fingers in her hair, cradling the back of her head. Nancy saw the old sparkle in Frank's eyes, and a hunger.

"Frank," Nancy said, not breaking their embrace, "I've been thinking about it all day, and—"

"Nancy!"

Frank and Nancy turned toward the voice, and both hearts sank. Carson Drew had parked a few spaces down from Frank, and was now walking toward them. Nancy and Frank slowly, regretfully took a step away from each other.

Carson came to a stop and looked the two young people up and down. "I knew I'd find you here, Nancy, since you have to go to work. It's an insult to my intelligence, really, these pathetic excuses I'm given about where you go some of these weekends. At least teach your friends the proper way to cover tracks."

The corners of Nancy's mouth turned down, and she looked guilty. "I'm going to explain everything, Dad. I decided that there will be no more secrets."

"Glad to hear it. Let's go, then. Explain it to me." Carson nodded toward his car door.

Nancy looked helplessly back to Frank. Frank met Carson's gaze evenly, assertively. "Nancy has been safe, Mr. Drew. Just give us a couple of hours and I'll drop off her off at home."

"Oh, the weekend wasn't long enough?" Carson responded sharply. Nancy felt deeply embarrassed and conflicted.

"Just—just give us one minute, Dad, one minute," Nancy said, grabbing Frank's arm and moving him to the side. Frank's good mood further deflated, as he could already tell what her decision was.

"What are you, a truant teenager?" Frank whispered sarcastically as soon as they were out of range. Nancy's colleagues began streaming out the door and past them, heading toward their cars.

"No, but he and I _do_ live together, so he deserves more information than I've been giving him." Nancy pleaded with him with her eyes. "Plus it's the anniversary of my mom's death, right? Maybe he's upset. If you and I are…going to spend more time together, we don't want to get off on the wrong foot with him."

Frank felt a hollow pit begin to form in his stomach. "It's your choice, Nan. _I_ , for one, will not be forcing you to choose between us"—he shot an annoyed look toward Nancy's father's direction—"but Nancy, it's my turn to do the overnight watch for our case tomorrow night. I'll die if I can't see you for another two days, not after all that's happened."

Tracy walked by with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk, glancing pointedly back and forth from Nancy to Frank. Nancy would have appreciated the humor at another time but now turned away from her, desperately wanting to get out of this situation. "Just text me, okay?" She gave Frank a quick peck on the cheek and ran to get into her father's car. Carson peeled out abruptly, gunning the engine. Frank's cheek burned where Nancy had kissed him.

ndndnd

Nancy and Carson drove in silence. Nancy did indeed feel like a truant teenager, about to be grounded for life.

Once home, they walked to the kitchen in unison. Carson pulled out the pots and utensils while Nancy searched for the ingredients. It was a habit since Nancy's teenage years; whenever they were angry with each other, they cooked. It gave them a distraction, it forced them to work together and, most importantly, it meant they had to have less awkward eye contact.

Nancy searched for the spaghetti, and rolled her eyes despite the tension in the room. "Come on, Dad, this is just like Frank's kitchen. You've got to start exchanging brown pasta for white pasta." Realizing what she'd revealed, Nancy's cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

"On that pleasant note," Carson said sarcastically, "how about you tell me what happened this weekend. On Saturday night I hear that you're in the ER making your displeasure known, then on Sunday morning never mind, everything's great. I'll spare George the shame of relating exactly the pathetic excuse she gave me."

Nancy handed the box of spaghetti to her father, who started a pot of boiling water. Nancy heated the canned sauce in another pot, adding some spices, stirring constantly and gazing into its depths, speaking to her sauce while relating the sordid details of her weekend. She and Carson stood side by side, eventually both circling their utensils hypnotically, Nancy finally concluding her story just before the timer on the microwave beeped. Nancy put her sauce on the table on a hot dish pad and took a deep breath, listening to her father draining the spaghetti into a colander with accompanying splashes and hisses of heat.

Finally she turned around in trepidation, and then froze in surprise. Carson was trying hard not to smile.

"You kicked Frank _where_?" he asked.

" _Stop_ it, Dad!" Nancy squealed. "It's humiliating, I can't believe I was that out of control! And why are you smiling? What's your deal with Frank?"

Carson shrugged. "Nothing." He smirked while he dished the spaghetti.

"And he was the perfect gentleman this weekend, anyway," Nancy argued, heated. She ladled the sauce and sat down. She paused. This wasn't exactly how she'd wanted to give this news, but she knew that she would procrastinate for weeks or months if she didn't say it now. "But Dad…there's only one more piece of the puzzle that you need to know." Taking a deep breath, she finished, "My plane for Europe last year didn't actually leave on June fourth. It left on June fifth. I spent the night at Frank's. And during my mission…I had a miscarriage."

Carson dropped his fork and closed his eyes.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I knew you'd be disappointed," Nancy cried, feeling horribly guilty.

Carson held up an index finger, motioning that he needed a moment to himself. A few seconds later, he let out a breath, opened his eyes and took Nancy's hand. "No," he said firmly. "That's not what I'm thinking about you. I'm so sorry for your loss, Nancy. I know I'm old-fashioned, and I can't expect you to make the same decisions that I did. I'm so sorry, I wish you didn't have to experience such pain. You're so young."

"Thanks, Dad," Nancy said gratefully, returning his squeeze. "I know this is weird coming from me in the next sentence, but…I've had a year now to process it. I acutely feel my daughter's absence, but I think I need to work on adjusting to the new normal. That's part of why I've been getting sick recently, because life reminds me of her all the time, but I want to practice working through the pain and reacting with normal sadness rather than…these breaks with reality that only push off the emotions and don't process them. This weekend showed me that I can get through this, if I make a plan and let other people help me. I think that's what my daughter would want, too."

Carson smiled wistfully at her. "I'm glad to hear that, and glad to finally know. So tell me about this plan."

"Well, I didn't actually finish it, daylight was coming up so I had to get out of the—well, I had to go to work." Nancy blushed. She hadn't felt the need to tell her father about the bath this morning. "Why don't we finish it now. Together." Nancy pulled out her papers from her purse, the ones that she'd created at Frank's.

"Oh, she's creating spreadsheets again, that's a good sign," Carson teased, gripping her arm.

"Well, a coworker recently told me that I should have a 'daily action plan,' a routine to get through each day. Then, when anything upsetting happens during the day, I can stay on track even if I don't feel like it. Work is obviously on there."

"You know I can easily support you, Nancy."

Nancy gave him a look. "Stop it. We're Drews, we tend to work even harder when we're upset. At least I'm only working 35 hours a week, _unlike_ some people sitting at this table. I'm thinking of relaxing things to do in my routine, things that I want out of life. I would like to do fun things, outings or whatever, with people my age. I lost some of my adolescence doing detective work, so maybe I can make up for some of that now. I also want to start getting involved with church."

Carson raised his eyebrows. "Wow. I'm not sure if I'll be able to join you, honey, but that's great."

"Not sure what I'll find there, if anything, but it must be meeting some kind of need for meaning since so many people are going. Also, I'm going to up my trips to the gym to four times a week. I feel better emotionally as well as physically, plus you know how weight gain is a side effect." Nancy gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth.

"Nancy, have you been taking your vitamins?" Carson asked sharply. "I knew I should have kept reminding you every night, I knew it."

"They're _medications_ , Dad, we're not tiptoeing around anything anymore. And no, oh, no, they're still at George's." Nancy knew exactly where they were: on the table beside George's bathroom sink, buried deeply inside her bag of toiletries. She winced, forcing herself not to think about George possibly googling the brand name. They were powerful antipsychotics.

"When's the last time you took them?" Carson asked.

Nancy worked it out. "I take them at night, so….Friday night." She whipped out her phone.

" _Three days ago?"_

"I've been feeling fine, Dad, don't worry." Nancy sent a quick text. She suddenly realized that she hadn't told a soul about the shadows she'd been seeing. She'd been so relaxed in Frank's apartment that she hadn't even remembered them. How could she possibly say anything now, after the blackout and missing a few days of meds? Everyone would panic and coddle even more. Maybe if she stuck to her new plan and kept her stress level down, she wouldn't see them again anyway. She would only explain about the shadows if she saw them again.

"Remember what the psychiatrist said?" Carson said, trying not to become upset. "Some people stop taking them and feel better briefly, but when the chemicals get completely out of your system, the symptoms return. And even if you start taking the medication, who knows how long it will take to get the medication back up to the levels needed—"

"I know, Dad," Nancy said. Her phone beeped and she leaned over the screen. "Oh, good, George got back to me right away. She's overnighting them. So I should have them by tomorrow."

"So you'll have skipped them from Friday night to sometime on Tuesday…four days in between doses. What time is it? It might be too late to overnight them." Carson Drew pulled out his phone. "Let's call that psychiatrist on call—"

"Let us do no such damn thing," Nancy snapped in irritation, then checked herself. "I'm sorry, Dad. But please, I don't want to be one of the hysterics calling for every little thing. Even if the psychiatrist called you back, it wouldn't be _my_ psychiatrist so they'd have to research my records, then the pharmacy would be closed by then, and then in the morning the pharmacy wouldn't fill it anyway because I just filled it last week."

Carson sighed in resignation. "Okay, Nance, I won't call. But I don't like it."

"Me neither, but we can wait until tomorrow. Anyway, let's get back to the list." Nancy tried to focus.

"Okay. You have spiritual things to do, you have social things…how about basic relaxation?" Carson asked. "How about if every night, you took a long, hot bath?"

Nancy's stomach felt warm just to think about it. She wasn't sure she would ever think of a bath as entirely innocent again. "Maybe a long shower every night," she said hurriedly, and was relieved as the doorbell rang. She walked to the front door and answered it.

"Dad, it's for you," Nancy called, confused. Carson glanced at the clock and followed her to the door, wondering who had come this late.

"Hi, Mr. Drew," Heather said cheerfully. She was holding a vase of flowers.

"Hi, Heather," Mr. Drew said hurriedly, not meeting Nancy's questioning eyes. "My daughter Nancy, the new office receptionist, Heather."

The two women nodded to each other.

"Sorry to disturb, Mr. Drew," Heather said, "but these flowers came for you at the office. Someone who knows that you usually work late, obviously. But I wanted to make sure that you got them right away."

Carson forced down the bile that rose in his throat. Heather was just trying to be nice; there's no way she could have known what this would do.

"Thanks," Carson said hurriedly. "Get home and take care of yourself, will you, Heather? The same thing I tell you every night, huh?" Carson forced a smile and closed the front door, hoping that Heather wouldn't think it was too abrupt.

"Wow, what are these, Dad?" Nancy said in admiration. "These aren't even from a shop. Look at this homemade card." She set the flowers on the table and arranged them, picking up the card.

"Look, Nancy—" Carson began.

"L.H." Nancy looked up in confusion. Then her face cleared. "Oh, I get it. Laura Hardy. Of course."

Carson's heart skipped a beat. " _What?_ "

"Laura Hardy. How sweet of her, to remember Mom's twentieth anniversary. Although I'm surprised that they're not addressed to you and me both. And why just her initials, and sent to the office?" Nancy's frown returned. "Still nice of her, though."

Carson attempted to breathe evenly. "Yes, it's nice of her to remember. I'll have to call and thank her." He walked out of the house to be sure that Nancy would not overhear.

Carson looked over his shoulder as he spoke. "Nancy saw the flowers," he said bluntly when the person on the other end answered. "What were you thinking? She's a detective, for goodness' sake, like she's not going to figure it out. _Stop it._ Let me move on." He hung up without waiting for a response.


	15. Chapter 15

**Several Ways to Ward Off or Cope With Hallucinations**

If you **hear** things that are not really there, try to draw attention away from yourself. Have "safe words" ready. Don't try to read minds or analyze what the voices are saying.

If you **see** things that are not really there, stare at the floor or your feet. Make no direct eye contact with the images, if possible. Focus on nothing, and slowly walk five steps away from everybody and everything. Don't drive.

If you **feel** something that is not really there, put your hands in your pockets. Slowly move away from the object that might be associated with the feeling.

If you **smell** something that is not really there, have plenty of tissues or paper towels available to plug your nose.

If all your food begins to **taste** differently than usual, add plenty of salt, sugar, or spices to adjust the taste.

Nancy took a moment to re-read. "This is fabulous, Zane. This could really help some people. Can I submit it to be handed out at the Christmas party?"

Zane shrugged. "Sure." He puffed a cigarette in Nancy's opposite direction, outside the car window. They'd parked at the schoolgrounds this particular Tuesday, but it was too cold to get out. "Even if I can't go back to school and make 'some people' happy, I can find other ways to express myself."

"Yes, you did, and it's awesome. Can I type this up?" At his nod, Nancy folded it and put it in her purse. "I'm sorry that you have to deal with all this, Zane."

"Looks like you've got your own monkey on your back," Zane remarked.

Nancy slouched, looking away from him. "I still can't believe you witnessed that," she mumbled. "Sorry, Zane."

"These apologies are not needed," Zane said, throwing his cigarette out the window. "I understand why you've been avoiding me, cancelling appointments. It's embarrassing to go through."

"So how did you get better?" Nancy asked. "I know that you don't think of yourself as better, but you're not in the hospital either."

"Meds," Zane answered. Nancy remembered nervously that George had mailed her meds, but George had indeed been too late to overnight them-they wouldn't arrive until tomorrow's mail. Five whole days without. "And forcing yourself to get out," Zane continued. "It's natural to want to hide in the house, but guess what, you can't hide from your own mind. Sometimes distraction is the only thing that works." He glanced sidelong at Nancy. "And there's always one tried-and-true method."

"Uh-oh, what's that?" Nancy asked, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

"Take notes on what all us mental patients are doing, and then do the exact opposite."

Nancy laughed. "You all— _we_ all—are a lot more resilient than people think." The Malibu honked as she changed gears.

ndndnd

"Hi, Mrs. Hardy," the cheerful voice on the other side of the phone said.

Laura Hardy felt a chill roll up her spine as she abruptly sat down. " _Nancy_?"

"I…uhh…" Nancy sounded smaller, less sure of herself.

"No, I'm sorry, honey," Laura said quickly. "It's my fault, I just…I just wasn't expecting you to call, that's all."

"Oh. I'll let you go soon then, it's just that I was looking in the paper for things to get involved in…and I saw the event that your church is having this Saturday for Halloween night, the party for the kids. Frank told me that you're going to that church now."

Laura rubbed her temples, willing her blood to circulate. Was this really happening? "Okay…"

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go together. I've been thinking about going to church, and for me this would be…an easier way to get started than, you know, going to a service. And I really appreciate those flowers you sent for my mother's anniversary. So I thought of you when I saw this event in the paper."

"Oh." Laura blinked. She realized too late that politeness dictated that she respond.

"You know what, we don't have to—" Nancy started.

"Of course, dear, of course," Laura said. "That's a sweet idea. Of course."

"Okay," Nancy said, relieved. "Do you have a list of things that they need?"

"Oh—they're always looking for cookies, cupcakes, sugary things. Just bring one or two things. I'll meet you at the church maybe around…5:15, so we can help get ready?"

"That sounds great. Really, thanks."

"It's a great idea, Nancy, I think we'll have a great time. See you then." Laura hung up and watched the room spin. She had no idea why Nancy would want to meet with her for this event. She could almost hear her husband's chastising voice: _Are you looking for ways to practice penance, Laura?_ He couldn't know that she was meeting with Nancy. He wouldn't understand.

Maybe Nancy was trying to get closer to her because she and Frank were finally beginning to date…Laura couldn't bear to consider the idea.

ndndnd

On Wednesday night, three days before the church party, Nancy found herself holding her cell phone to her ear and watching the clock. She self-assessed and found butterflies in her stomach, her foot impatiently tapping…and she'd looked in the mirror to check her appearance more than she had in the entire past year. Her meds had arrived that afternoon and she'd taken one immediately.

" _Hello_?" the voice on the other end of the phone said teasingly. "Is someone distracted?"

"Shutup, George," Nancy said with a smile.

"I'm glad that our talk on the hayride fixed everything," George said, and Nancy could hear her smiling.

"Yeah, that must have been it," Nancy laughed. "Thanks so much for agreeing to forget about last weekend, George." Nancy's phone began to vibrate, and Nancy squealed when she saw the name. "Got to go! I'm going to hold you to that promise about spending another weekend together!"

"Absolutely, and call me later tonight," George said.

Nancy pressed a button on her phone to switch between calls. "Frank, are you in the driveway? My dad doesn't bite, you know."

"Nancy, I'm so sorry," Frank said, and Nancy was concerned to hear the high levels of anxiety in his voice. "Joe and I are in the office reviewing our case, and he uncovered some things that I really should have picked up on before now…it looks like the terrorist group is on the move, and we might have been watching the wrong house for the past few weeks. Everything's a mess and we can't let them get any farther ahead. I'm so sorry that I have to cancel for tonight, and probably for many nights in future as well. It would have been really good to see you, Nancy, I really need you right about now, but it just can't happen."

"No," Nancy said quietly. "I'm the one who's sorry. I picked a lousy weekend to need rescuing. Best wishes, Frank. I'm thinking of you all the time and I'm here if you have time to call."

ndndnd

"Welcome to the seventh class of Human Behavior in the Social Environment," Professor Ridlan announced on Thursday night, passing out a handout. Nancy glanced at it, and knew what the topic for the night was: anxiety disorders.

"I'm assuming that you all read the homework assignment about anxiety disorders. Therefore, what I want to talk about this evening is possible _treatments_ for anxiety.

"The first aspect to stress to your clients is always lifestyle changes. Getting enough sleep, eating healthfully, of course taking medications as prescribed. Also, many professionals believe that _exercise_ may be the number one most effective treatment, as it naturally balances brain chemistry.

"For talk therapy, cognitive behavioral therapy has been proven to be highly effective for motivated individuals. Explore irrational thoughts with your clients, encourage them to write them down and fully evaluate them, and change them to something more realistic. For example, in social phobia, is everyone _really_ staring at them at parties? Aren't people more likely to be focusing on themselves?

"One somewhat controversial therapy that I personally tend to believe is effective is called _exposure therapy_. Say that someone falls off a horse, and they are afraid to get back on. The first thing the person would ask herself is whether or not she _wants_ to continue riding—if they do, then it is much less traumatic for the person to take it in incremental stages. Each person, with the help of their therapist, makes a list of reasonable small steps in order to build up to getting back on the horse. First, maybe they would just drive past the barn where it happened. Then, on a different day, they take a friend and walk into the barn. Come on, folks, give me some more steps."

"Take a friend and look at the horse that threw you," a classmate suggested.

"Watch someone else get on that horse," Nancy volunteered.

"Exactly, you get the idea," Professor Ridlan said. "I used this example specifically because of our expression of _getting right back on the horse_. Because think about it: if you wait for weeks, or months, or years, what happens?"

"Gets worse," someone said.

"The fear grows, yes," Ridlan said. "You start thinking that the incident was worse than it was, then you start thinking of how much worse it could be next time, then you start wondering if the entire barn will cave in on you if you ever get back on that horse. Each client and therapist needs to decide how quickly the pace needs to be to get back onto the horse, but the process should start relatively quickly."

Nancy thought hard about that concept. Then she started doodling Frank's name in her notebook. It was very hard to pay attention the rest of that night.

"Class dismissed," Professor Ridlan finally announced. Nancy made a beeline for the door. "Nancy, could you stay behind for a minute please?" Ridlan called hurriedly. The class paused; this was certainly not the first time that Ridlan had wanted to speak with Nancy privately.

Ridlan waited impatiently for the class to file out. Nancy rested a hand on the doorknob. "Nancy, I just want you to know…how much I've enjoyed our talks recently. Have you been giving some thought to what we've been talking about?"

Nancy frowned, surprised. "Yes, I love your class. I'm working hard on that family secrets paper that's due next week."

"That's good," Ridlan said, although Nancy had the distinct impression that he hadn't heard her. "I mean, I want to be there for you, if you're still going through any stress. I care about my students' personal lives, too."

The hairs on the back of Nancy's neck were beginning to stand on end, and her hands felt clammy. Professor Ridlan was standing too closely, trying to look too casual. What was he getting at? "Thank you for your concern, but actually I'm doing better and better, Professor."

"Glad to hear it," Ridlan said. He took another small step forward, sitting on a desk and leaning toward her. "I want to be there for you, Nancy. I want you to feel like you can open up to me."

Nancy noticed movement behind Ridlan's left shoulder, and gasped in horror. A shadow beckoned to her, larger and closer than it had ever been. Its arms and legs were vastly disproportionate to the rest of its body, longer and more flexible, and looked more like tentacles this close up. Its static outline flickered brighter, then darker.

Ridlan whirled around to follow her glance, seeing nothing. "What? What is it, Nancy?"

"Please, please, I've got to go," Nancy said, fear beginning to curl her toes and shake her teeth. She turned around and turned the doorknob.

"One second, please, Nancy," the professor said assertively, taking one large step and putting his hand on the door to prevent her from opening it. "What's your schedule like for the next week? Where are you going to be?"

"With my _boyfriend_ ," Nancy said frantically, pushing Ridlan's arm forcefully off the door, opening the door, and sidestepping quickly out of his reach. Ignoring his echoing calls for her, Nancy ran straight to campus security and asked for an escort to walk her to the train station. As soon as the train began to move, Nancy took out her bottle of meds and took an extra pill. She knew that doing so was _very_ much against the rules, but the last thing she needed was a relapse. What if she'd hallucinated the entire strange interaction with Ridlan? Was he concerned, threatening her, or trying to ask her on a date? As a detective, she'd relied on her excellent skills of reading people, but now she couldn't even trust her own perception of reality. _And I'm more than just weirded out by those shadows,_ Nancy thought. _I'm afraid of them._

ndndnd

"I'm going to distribute the lists of who's picking up which region for our food bank next month," Melissa announced at morning meeting on Friday. "Anyone have anything else?"

Nancy and her colleagues stared blankly at Melissa. It was the day before Halloween; they weren't in any mood to get assigned to any extra work.

"All right, looks like that's it, then." Melissa closed her notebook. "Although, Nancy…did you try any special interventions with Maria this week? She called the CEO yesterday specifically to say how much you've been helping her."

All eyes turned toward Nancy. Maria was known for regularly calling to complain…no one could remember if she had ever called for any other reason. "Nice," someone remarked.

Nancy shrugged. "I was willing to clean alongside her. That must be it."

"Keep up the good work. Great job." The room relaxed as Melissa took her leave.

Tracy immediately sat next to Nancy, peering at her suspiciously. "Come on, Nancy. What did you do?"

Nancy raised her eyebrows, smiling slyly. "I cleaned with her, of course. I might have added an extra incentive about the department of health condemning her apartment if she didn't get off her ass."

"You did not. Oh my gosh. Nancy, I feel like you've changed recently, like it's time to have some fun." Tracy leaned in. "Listen, I'm meeting my boyfriend and some of his friends at Camp Evans tomorrow night for Halloween. Camp Evans is this unbelievable walk-through in Camden, it takes like a half hour to walk through it. It would sure be nice not to be the only female."

Nancy's heart leaped. She'd always liked Tracy, and it would be nice to learn to have a good old-fashioned night out in a group, but… "Sorry, but I already have plans. I'm meeting my friend's mom at a church to help host a Halloween party. It's during trick-or-treat hours."

"So?" Tracy asked. "I'm taking my kids treat-or-treating myself, then I'll drop them off at my mom's, and I can pick you up from the church. What time does the party get out?"

"9:00."

"Then I'll get you at 9:30. You even have time to help clean up." Tracy raised her eyebrows, asking a nonverbal question.

Nancy thought fast. She thought about the beckoning shadows she had seen during the hayride with George, and then again last night…and then she thought about the lesson on anxiety, about facing fears when they are fresh. She'd been back on her meds for a couple of days. "You know what…that sounds like fun, Tracy. Thanks for thinking of me."

"Oooh, it'll be fun!" Tracy squeezed Nancy's arm. "Give me the address of that church."

ndndnd

At 11:30 that night, a lone figure walked up a hill, the only pedestrian at that time of night. Only a slight bounce in his step betrayed the urgency of his mission. He walked straight to the apartment he was looking for, and used his key to get in.

The seven people inside turned toward the sound, an awed hush descending on them. "Welcome home, boss," one member of the group said with obvious relief and respect.

The man took a seat on the ragged couch and took a swig of whatever was in the bottle in front of him, impatiently waving away their displays of affection. "Back to order," he said. "We spend tomorrow preparing, and then I have to take care of…something personal. Then we take action. Wait for my call tomorrow night."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: It's finally Halloween night! Thanks so much to all reviewers—you guys keep me going. I am so glad you've stayed with me during all these meandering chapters. Hope you enjoy the climax.

ndndnd

"I'm walking to the church," Laura announced to Fenton the next night on Halloween, not wanting him to possibly see Nancy if he dropped her off. "Can you pick me up at 9:30?"

"Sure, honey." Fenton gave her kiss. "You've got to remember, though, that our car is in the shop. I brought home the work car, are you sure that wouldn't attract too much attention in the church parking lot?"

Laura shrugged. "It's one of the undercover cars—it's big, but not obvious. And I think people know what you do for a living by now. See you later, honey."

Laura walked the four blocks in the setting sun, feeling surprisingly calm in the face of what her evening might bring. She'd decided to simply enjoy Nancy's company. Nevertheless, Carson's angry phone call earlier this week had certainly unnerved her. Had Nancy figured everything out? Was Nancy toying with her?

She found Nancy looking decidedly uncomfortable in the church parking lot, a bag of goodies in one hand, a couple of books in the other. Nancy broke into a smile of relief as she saw Laura approach.

"Thanks so much for doing this with me," Nancy gushed as they walked in together. "I'm trying to make some changes in my life, but it's so hard to get started."

"I'm glad you came out, dear, they'll love you here," Laura said with a frozen smile, holding the door for Nancy and pointing her to the common room. "A group came out this afternoon and set up the decorations, so really, we just have to complete the final touches before the kids get here at six."

Those final touches didn't take nearly enough time, however, as all they had to do was display the food and set up signs for the games. Even after introducing Nancy to each member of the party committee separately, it was still barely after 5:30 when Laura and Nancy found themselves alone. Nancy had mentally prepared a statement to give in case Laura asked what Nancy's intentions were with Frank, but that appeared to be the last thing on Laura's mind.

"So are those your school books?" Laura asked, nodding toward the thick volumes. "Those should take you a while to read."

"Yes—I'm taking them everywhere these days, in case I have time to work on my schoolwork. One is Edgar Allen Poe, and one is my textbook, Human Behavior in the Social Environment. We have to choose a historical figure and write about how secrets might have affected them or their work. I chose Poe."

"How appropriate for Halloween," Laura said.

"I'm focusing on tales of the sublime, of course," Nancy said musingly, "and an interesting theme emerges. In four tales, 'The Tell-Tale Heart,' 'The Fall of the House of Usher,' 'The Black Cat,' and 'The Imp of the Perverse,' an innocent person is murdered and the guilty party goes free. But then, slowly, the guilty party is driven mad by his own relentless guilt and confesses."

Laura Hardy began to tremble.

"No one ever would have discovered his actions," Nancy continued, "but his own conscience forces him to reveal his own crime and bring about his own utter ruin. Poe absolutely believed the individual psyche capable of bringing about justice that the police never could."

Laura stood up abruptly. "I don't want to interrupt your homework, then, Nancy, we still have twenty minutes until the children arrive," she said, heading toward the bathroom.

Nancy opened her mouth to object, and closed it. Whoops. She hadn't meant it like that.

ndndnd

Nancy was heartily disappointed and embarrassed by the end of the party. The committee had placed her and Laura next to one another at the games, Nancy hosting the memory match and Laura hosting the beanbag toss, but they had barely spoken ten sentences to each other all night. Even when there were children in their lines, the silence between them had been painfully awkward. _Of course_ , Nancy thought in dismay. _She thinks of me as the psycho who's out to snag her son._

When there were only a handful of children left, Nancy gathered her purse and books, hoping her absence wasn't noticed. She did some basic exploring and found a room upstairs with a perfect view of the parking lot, so she could leave as soon as Tracy arrived. She sent a quick text, encouraging Tracy to get there earlier if she could. The window was open to air the room.

Sighing, she opened to a chapter of Poe and began to read to herself. Checking sheepishly behind her, she began to read aloud. It always improved her concentration.

Downstairs, Laura Hardy did what she always did during times of stress: wash dishes, take down decorations, and wipe tables. She gathered up the leftovers, frowning as she came to Nancy's Tupperware. She'd thought that Nancy had gone home, but she must not have, since Nancy wouldn't have left without her Tupperware. Laura washed it and set off to look for Nancy, steeling herself for a final goodbye.

Laura checked the bathroom and outside, then remembered that Nancy was trying to get some schoolwork done. She opened the door to the upstairs rooms. She heard a low voice, and saw a soft light illuminating the hallway from the middle Sunday School classroom.

Laura walked slowly down the hall, frowning as she came within hearing distance.

"Yet, as she had foretold, her child—to which in dying she had given birth, which breathed not until the mother breathed no more—her child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed….and, as years rolled away, and I gazed, day after day, upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and poured over her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points of resemblance to her mother, the melancholy and the dead."

Laura stopped just outside the door, her heart beating erratically, her eyes wild.

"And, hourly, grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full, and more definite, and more perplexing, and more hideously terrible in their aspect…Of the mother I had never spoken to the daughter;-it was impossible to speak….above all—in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror—for a worm that would not die…Morella."

Heart hammering, Laura turned and walked through the doorway. Nancy sat with her back toward Laura, the only light in the room coming from the small desk lamp. Hearing the noise, Nancy turned around abruptly.

Upon seeing the face, Laura uttered a soft cry, stumbling back into the doorway. The Tupperware fell to the left, her purse to her right. " _Kate_!" she cried, falling down and backing up on the floor. "Kate, oh, dear God! I've suffered, how I've suffered!"

" _What_?" Nancy asked in alarm, rushing across the room to help Laura. Nancy's training returned to her and she knelt down to Laura's level, several feet away. Nancy held up her arms surrender-style and spoke calmly, assertively, soothingly. "It's just me, Mrs. Hardy! It's Nancy! I'm not my mom!"

Laura closed her eyes tightly, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head. "No…oh, no…"

"It's okay, shh, you're okay now," Nancy continued, although Nancy was trying not to panic herself. "Breathe with me, Mrs. Hardy, watch me. Come on, open your eyes, it's just me. Breathe up like this—" Nancy raised her hands—"and down like this. Breathe in time with my hand motions."

Laura opened her eyes and saw that it was, indeed, Nancy. Only Nancy.

A light of realization came into Nancy's countenance as Laura attempted to breathe evenly. "Oh, I understand," Nancy said, smiling in relief. "It was that Poe story I was reading. Morella, about the mother who is reincarnated in the daughter. Well, how appropriate for Halloween." Nancy stood up and offered Laura a hand. "It's fine, Mrs. Hardy. We don't ever have to talk about this again."

Laura looked blankly up at Nancy, and saw her full and complete way out. She could give Nancy her Tupperware and part on good terms, with a shared laugh between them. And yet, Laura knew now that it would not happen. Not this time.

"No," Laura said quietly. "Sit back on the floor, Nancy. I have something that I need to tell you."

Fear passed over Nancy's face, as she knew what was coming. Laura didn't want Nancy in a relationship with Frank. Trembling, she sat down, forcing herself to listen to whatever came.

"Nancy," Laura said, taking a deep breath, "when Frank and Joe first mentioned your name when they met you in college…it was quite a shock. You see, Fenton and I went to that same college with your mother and father. That's why we all wanted to send our children there, too. Fenton and I weren't friends with your parents, but we knew each other. Imagine our surprise when Fenton and your mother were assigned together as partners. How ironic."

Nancy's brow creased. "I wonder why Dad never told me this."

Laura held up a hand. "Fenton was no saint, and I knew this. I was young and hopelessly in love, believing that marrying him would cure his wandering eye."

Nancy's skin was beginning to slicken with sweat. Her breathing quickened.

"You know how this field can be," Laura said, not breaking eye contact with Nancy. "You spend all day, sometimes all night with your partner. The risky, sometimes life-threatening situations can't help but bond two people together. I don't believe Fenton and your mother were in love, but they did have an affair."

Nancy's hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes blurred with tears.

Laura opened her purse, searching for something. "I carry this with me everywhere I go," she said, pulling out a blue badge. She showed it to Nancy. "It's a reminder of why I gave it up."

Nancy squinted at the badge, shocked and horrified about where this was headed. "This is you…this ID badge is from twenty years ago."

"I worked in dispatch," Laura said. "I am the agent who sent your mother on the mission that took her life."

ndndnd

"So you see, Nancy," Laura concluded, "of the four of us parents, your father is the only innocent person."

Nancy's pulse raced. The clock in the room was ticking absurdly loudly, and everything felt like it was in slow motion. "No," she breathed. "How could he not tell me? How could all of you keep this from me?"

"We're agents," Laura said simply. "We have ways." She sat on the floor, her legs extended in front of her, her arms wrapped around her knees. Nancy recognized it for what it was: a posture of submission. Nancy could kick her, throw something at her, or spit on her, and Laura would take it as it came.

"So you…were trying to kill my mother," Nancy said shakily. She began to back up.

"I was very, very angry," Laura said. "Three months after I found out about the affair, I was assigned to find agents for a very risky assignment. Your mother's credentials matched what was needed. I advocated hard. Your mother could have said no, but she went."

Bits and pieces of a fragmented conversation floated back to Nancy from her childhood. She was five years old, listening to her parents arguing, her father pleading with her mother not to go, to think of Nancy. "'Revenge is a dish best served cold,'" Nancy whispered, quoting Poe.

They were interrupted by a blessedly normal sound: Nancy's cell phone ringing. Nancy kept her wary, stunned eyes on Laura, standing up and backing up toward the desk. Nancy reached the desk, her eyes flicking downward to her phone to see who was calling. "What?" she asked in confusion, and put the phone to her ear. "Hel…hello?"

"Nancy, I'm so glad you picked up, especially after the strange way I was acting the other night. It's Derrick Ridlan."

Nancy's hand shook. "Listen, now isn't really the best time, Professor—"

"Nancy, I have to tell you, even if it costs me my career. I'm so sorry that I didn't have the courage to tell you after class. I have to trust my instincts on this one. Nancy, do you know a man named Fenton Hardy?"

"Yes," Nancy breathed, her eyes on Laura.

"Well, I'm a criminal profiler for his department, and he…he asked me to do a profile on you, Nancy. Asked what you were capable of, what my opinion was. Those kinds of reports are usually used to catch a perpetrator."

Nancy's teeth chattered. She couldn't respond. It felt like Laura Hardy could look right through her, read her mind.

A figure suddenly appeared in the doorway. "There you are, honey," Fenton said to his wife, looking concerned. "What are you doing on the floor? Are you okay?"

"Fenton—please leave, honey," Laura said urgently. Fenton looked up and saw Nancy on the phone. His face hardened.

"You told her," he said to his wife.

"Yes," Laura said.

Nancy heard her professor's voice on the phone once more. "Nancy, are you still there? I'm telling you this because Fenton Hardy is a powerful enemy to have."

Fenton closed the door and locked it.

Nancy hung up and stood in front of Fenton and Laura, putting her phone in her pocket with sweaty hands. In a daze, she saw that Fenton's head and shoulders seemed to be getting bigger. A streak of hazy white appeared, then a strange, hollow vacuum of darkness. Her eyes slowly widened in horror…directly behind Fenton, a shadow was emerging, close and huge. It towered above him.

Fenton turned toward where Nancy was looking, inadvertently stepping into the shadow's space. "What the hell?" he asked in alarm, stepping quickly back and swatting around his head. "Laura, did you feel how cold it just got?"

Nancy heard a honk from the parking lot. "Nancy, where are you?" Tracy's voice called.

Nancy knew this chance would not come again. Adrenaline pumping, her training flooding back to her now that she needed it, she crouched on the windowsill. Turning around, she rounded her hands around the inside ledge of the windowsill, then released her body to hang in the air briefly. Releasing her grip, she fell onto the cement of the church parking lot. Making sure her knees were bent, she landed and tucked and rolled to the side to absorb the impact, wincing in pain but standing up immediately to hobble to Tracy's car. Her legs screamed with pins and needles.

"Geez, Nancy, what was that?" Tracy asked, eyes wide. "Are you okay? Where's your purse?"

"Just go…go-go-go-go-go," Nancy panted, but Tracy was too stunned to obey. Blood continued to rush through Nancy's head, pounding in protest of her recent maneuver, and she had cut her forehead and hands. "It's fine, that was my ex-boyfriend's mother who had me cornered up there," she explained. "Sorry about the dramatics, I took gymnastics when I was a kid. I was so mad at her."

Finally Tracy shakily obeyed, driving her car slowly down the street. "Do you still want to go to Camp Evans?" she asked uncertainly.

Nancy tried to think clearly, stretching her legs. She couldn't be alone right now, and she couldn't face her father after these twenty years of secrets. A horrifying thought occurred to her…did Frank and Joe know? Frank _or_ Joe?

"Yes, I want to go," Nancy said.


	17. Chapter 17

Laura snatched the car keys from her husband's hands. "I'm going after her. You can't come, we saw her face—she's terrified of you."

Fenton blocked the doorway. "Going after her might only make things worse. Neither of us did anything illegal, and the only reason we kept it a secret was to save everyone pain."

"And only succeeded in magnifying the pain. I'm leaving."

"Not while you're upset, not driving the undercover car," Fenton argued. "Come on, let's talk—"

"Fenton," Laura said calmly, "get out of my way or I will file for that divorce that I've owed you for twenty years."

Fenton's mouth hung open, his eyes wounded. He slowly stepped to the side. "I've been faithful to you ever since Kate," he called after her. "Does that count for nothing?" Fenton took out his phone.

Laura ignored his last question, sprinting down the church hallway, down the steps, through the foyer and out the door. She couldn't believe she'd made it in time, but Tracy's car was just pulling out of the parking lot by the time she got outside.

Laura hopped inside and gunned the engine. A green car filed behind Tracy's, and Laura pulled out of the parking lot after it. _Good_ , Laura thought. With one car between them, maybe Nancy wouldn't notice that she was being followed.

Feeling surprisingly calm, Laura continued to follow from a safe distance. She realized that this feeling was familiar: the tense, "in-the-zone" feeling of a chase. Careful not to arouse suspicion, Laura allowed her thoughts to begin to process the recent interaction, the one that she'd been dreading for two decades. Laura was deeply ashamed to think that she herself had put that expression of fear, horror, and pain on Nancy's face. Laura might also have destroyed her older son's chance of happiness. And her husband would be crushed at what Frank and Joe would think when they heard. Laura had never been able to convince her sons of this, but Fenton valued their opinions and respect very highly. Laura herself couldn't bear to think of what Frank and Joe would think of her, and shook herself back into the present.

A second car pulled behind Nancy, and the green car swerved into the left lane. Laura moved behind the new car, and the green sped and got back behind Nancy. Laura frowned. There was no reason for that green car to need to be right behind Nancy.

Nancy's car got off a few exits later, and the green car and Laura's car followed suit. While waiting at a traffic light, Nancy's turn signal went on, and the green car's turn signal immediately did the same. Laura's instinct was beginning to wonder whether or not Nancy and her friend were being followed by an additional car.

"Oh, no," Laura whispered when she realized what their destination was. She pulled into a tight spot. Hoards of teenagers and college students clumped together on the fields, the farmland having been converted into a gigantic Halloween attraction for the month of October. The path stretched on before them, winding in on itself, several massive barns interspersed for the pedestrians to walk through.

Laura exited the car, squinting among the cars and streetlights for a sign of Nancy's group. Nancy was making her way with one other young woman and three young men, heading for the ticket booth. Laura scanned her vision for the green car, and found that it had been parked a significant distance away, out of range of any streetlights. She could barely see an outline of a man, dressed in black, following the treeline on the edge of the fence. He was obviously not following the crowd.

Swallowing her fear, Laura walked toward Nancy, careful to approach from the front so Nancy wouldn't be startled. "Nancy," Laura said in a low voice, "please, I need to speak with you for a minute."

Nancy stopped in her tracks, looking incredulous. "Did you really just follow me here?" she asked in disbelief. "Haven't you said enough for one night? You've waited twenty years to speak to me, and I think I can have a few hours to put off processing that Frank's mom…is the person who…"

Nancy's friends had noticed that Nancy had stayed behind. "Seriously, Nancy, is this _her_?" the young woman asked with obvious disgust. Nancy simply began walking again, leaving Laura behind.

Laura's face began to crumple, and she forced herself to keep it together, knowing that she deserved Nancy's reaction. _I'm being paranoid,_ Laura thought, ashamed. Fenton was right; it was silly and arrogant of Laura to have followed Nancy out here.

Turning to go, a flash crossed Laura's field of vision, a glint of the artificial lights reflecting off metal. Laura focused her vision on where she had seen the flash, and was horrified to see that it belonged to the man in black, who had been driving the green car. He was heading straight for a staff emergency entrance in the first building in the walk-thru, a clown house that was completely in darkness. And he had a gun.

Now becoming frantic, Laura pushed her way to the ticket booth, where Nancy and her friends had just purchased line-hopper passes. "Nancy, please, I think you're in danger," Laura tried again in desperation, although she knew the response she would get.

Nancy whirled on her. "My danger is right in front of me."

One of the young men moved to stand before Laura. "Enough, lady. Enough." He took Nancy's arm, which Nancy didn't seem to be happy about, and the group of five headed toward the entrance to the clown house.

Laura thought fast. Speaking to the staff that was letting the crowd enter in increments might only start a panic. She ran toward a security guard. "I need to speak with the head of security. Now."

"You're speaking to him."

"I have reason to believe that a gunman just entered one of your buildings." Laura flashed her badge. She saw Nancy and her friends skip the line and enter the first building, and her heart sank.

The security guard tensed immediately at her report, and took out a flashlight to examine her badge. "You look a lot younger in this picture."

"Nevertheless I still have the requisite training," Laura snapped. "I'm telling you, there is a man with a gun who just entered a staff entrance to your first building. Listen to me carefully. I'm not going to ask you to do anything drastic. The worst thing we can do in a situation like this is surprise him, evacuate, turn on the lights, anything that might startle him—he might open fire on everyone. Right now he's only after one person, and using the cover of this funhouse so no one will know who killed her."

The chief of security was looking at Laura as if she had completely lost her mind, but he still looked terrified by the small chance that what she said to him was truth.

"I'm going to make this an easy decision for you," Laura said calmly. "First of all, obviously stop any more people from entering this clown house. Secondly, let me see your security cameras. Your staff can be there with me the whole time, I don't care. I think I can help the woman he's after evade him. The gunman won't want to risk hurting anyone else because he still wants to get out of there without getting caught."

The chief of security hesitated a few seconds to debate with himself, and it felt like an hour to Laura. "I'll allow this only because we have a policy to treat all threats as fact," he said. He began walking, and Laura kept close behind him. He picked up his walkie-talkie. "Stop sending people through the Pitch-Black Demented Funhouse," he ordered to the staff. He turned to Laura. "As soon as the last person comes through the other side, we turn on the lights and make sure everything's safe. Then, when it is, I let the line through again and report this as a hoax to the police."

"I'll be thrilled if I'm mistaken," Laura replied, and her phone rang.

"Mom, we're almost there, only a couple more minutes," she heard Frank say on the line.

"What?" Laura asked in disbelief. She walked into the security booth and her shoulders slumped. There were only three cameras for such a large building, and even panned completely out, there were still plenty of blind spots. At least the screens had good night vision technology.

"Dad called me and explained that you and Nancy had some kind of a bad argument or something. He asked Joe and me to follow the tracker on the undercover car and come out there, make sure you two are all right. It's got to be quick, Mom, we're still on this case-"

"Glad you came," Laura said brusquely as she sat down in front of the screens. "Come to the first building when you get here, the clown house. Wear your bullet-proof vests and bring your guns."

" _What_? Mom, what's going on? I've never heard you sound like this!"

"I'm in front of the security cameras, so I'll be instructing everyone. There's a gunman after Nancy, and she's not listening to me because of that argument she and I had. Frank, honey, you've _got_ to call Nancy and convince her to pick up the phone for me. Her life depends on it."

ndndnd

Nancy politely but firmly removed her arm from this new guy's grip at the first opportunity. That was _not_ what she needed right now. She lightly scraped her fingernails against her forearm, the "grounding" technique that a psychiatrist had taught her at the hospital, trying valiantly not to dissociate. Everything felt hazy, unreal, and now she had to process that Laura Hardy had actually _followed_ her and her friends. What Laura had actually said, Nancy had already blocked out.

Nancy felt her phone vibrate before she entered the walk-thru, and checked to see who it was. A voicemail from Dad. _Right_ , she thought, _**now**_ _he wants to talk._ Laura must have called him. He made her wait for the truth for twenty years, she would at least make him wait a few hours.

"Oh yeah," Nancy heard one of Tracy's friends say excitedly, "it's completely dark in here. We have to feel our way around."

"Except for when the clowns put the lights on in your face," the staff member said mischievously, letting them inside.

Upon entering the building, Nancy's lungs immediately felt constricted, and she felt her palms clam up and her heart rate increase. A cacophony of sounds echoed, from character actors to screaming, laughing friends. She squeezed through two giant inflatables, Tracy giggling and holding her hand from in front. Panic constricted Nancy's throat—what had she been thinking, to come here? Nancy had never been on a walk-thru before, and had thought it would be similar to trick-or-treating. She stumbled her way through complete blackness, character actors whispering at them and making loud bangs.

Nancy's phone vibrated again, and she almost didn't look at it. Almost. Finally, needing some contact with the outside world, Nancy checked the name. Frank Hardy.

Panic from the dark surroundings and a reminder of tonight's earlier encounter threatened to send Nancy over the edge, but she forced herself to breathe deeply. What if Frank had known all along? Could she trust him?

Then Nancy thought of the mysteries that she and Frank had solved together. She thought of the earthy smell that tended to linger on his clothes no matter what he wore, and the looks of admiration he'd given her during college classes when everyone else had thought she was a know-it-all. She thought of the pained, frozen look on his face on the times he'd dropped her off to visit Ned. She thought of his wind-blown hair when he'd been waiting for her at work earlier this week, and how he'd rolled up a sweatshirt for a pillow after she'd attacked him in the hospital. She thought of how he'd driven for over ten hours straight when she had expressed no gratitude, and how he'd taken care of her needs first when they returned to his apartment.

Yes, she could trust him.

Tentatively, hesitantly, Nancy pressed "accept."

"Thank God you picked up. Nancy, it's Frank, please, please listen to me carefully," Nancy heard Frank say, and Nancy felt ice form in her stomach at his tone of voice. His teeth were chattering, he was so terrified.

"I'm here, honey, what's wrong?" Nancy asked, her heart skipping at least one beat. "Did your mom tell you—"

"I have no idea what you two argued about and I don't care. Nancy, are you inside some kind of pitch-black haunted house right now?"

"Uh…yeah—" Nancy's call waiting buzzed. Laura Hardy. She ignored it.

Frank's hurried voice rushed on. "Nancy, there is a gunman inside that haunted house with you right now, coming after you. I think I might know who he is, but I can't explain right now. My mom is at the security booth, looking at the security cameras, and she's going to guide you to the nearest emergency exit. You've got to pick up the phone and follow her directions."

Nancy hesitated. She and Tracy rounded a corner and a huge spotlight came on over a clown, mouth dripping with blood. Tracy screamed, and Nancy ignored the adrenaline rush and pulled her friend away from the light. "Go ahead of me from now on, I'm right behind you," Nancy said to her. "There's not enough room for us both to walk side by side."

Tracy complied, and Nancy heard Frank's increasingly panicked voice. "Where are you, what's going on? Never mind, don't answer, please just hang up and talk to my mom. I'd never hurt you, Nancy, I'm begging you to trust me."

Nancy knew that was the truth. "Okay," she said firmly. "Love you, Frank."

A slight pause of surprise. "Love you too, Nancy, more than you'll ever know."

 _I think I already know._ Nancy pressed "disconnect," then found Laura Hardy in her recent calls.

Laura picked up on the first ring. "Nancy, thank God," Laura said in relief, and returned to business. "He's still on the other side of the building, but he's definitely getting closer. There are only two emergency exits in there, and I'm going to send you back toward the front. Turn around and head back the other way. He has a small flashlight, but so do all the other actors in there, so you wouldn't be able to know which one is him."

"I'm right behind you, keep going," Nancy said to Tracy, who was fortunately hugging and giggling with her boyfriend, barely remembering Nancy. Nancy also knew that the slightest hint of a panic could make the gunman start shooting. She couldn't explain anything to Tracy.

Nancy struggled against the flow, forced to wait until a large, clumped group of people passed.

"Nancy, I need you to move _now_."

"I'm trying," Nancy whispered, and was soon on the move. Nancy's business-like attitude began to fade now that Tracy was out of the way, and her current situation was dawning on her in all its horror. She tried not to think about whom she was receiving orders from: the same woman who couldn't be trusted with her mother's life.

"Yes, keep going, and follow the loop to the right. Frank and Joe just arrived, honey, they're waiting right outside the emergency door for you so he doesn't get away. I'm using a security guard's phone in addition to mine, so I have contact with both you and Frank right now. You have plenty of support. You have to follow your current path, and in one more minute you'll be by the door. Don't run, don't attract attention. You're almost out."

"Where is everyone?" Nancy whispered, following instructions.

"The security guard stopped further people from entering the building. It's just a clear path between you and the exit, Nancy. Oh, wait—"

Nancy stifled her scream not a nanosecond too soon, as a seven-foot clown shone his flashlight on himself, blocking her path.

"Nancy, it's an actor. It's not him. Push past this guy, don't lose time."

Nancy pushed by as best she could, walking quickly. She heard his echoing laughs and taunts. Turning the corner, she could see the glowing red exit sign at the end of the hallway and her pace increased.

"Stop, Nancy!" Laura almost shrieked into the phone. "He just climbed over a wall. Your friend also turned around to look for you. Nancy, walk back around the corner and climb the first wall you come to. I'm going to have to lead you to the other exit."


	18. Chapter 18

A few minutes earlier, Carson Drew had sputtered coffee down the front of his shirt, scalding himself. Consulting his rolodex, he made several calls that went to voicemail. He then frantically dialed Nancy's number, needing three attempts to get it right.

He swore as it went to voicemail. "Nancy, it's Dad," he said briskly. "I've been looking at evidence, and just realized that we didn't get all the members of that drug bust in Paris last year. That drug ring is much bigger than we'd thought. One of the members just arrived here via plane last night, and it makes perfect sense that he'd want revenge for you corralling his buddies last year. He must have finished preparations in Paris for whatever his plan is now, so now that he's in the states he's going to act fast. We need to make arrangements to protect you. Please call me and let me know you're okay, then come down to the station immediately. Don't even go home, it's not safe. If I have to take care of this situation myself…know that both your father and your mother's last thoughts were of our love for you. Forgive me for my prejudice with Frank, honey, it has nothing to do with him personally. He is a good man and if you want to be with him, I heartily give my approval." Carson hung up the phone and shook, but forced himself to call the next number that he needed to.

It only took him a minute to give up. He knew who he needed to call next, although his every fiber screamed against it.

"Fenton, it's Carson," he said brusquely. "I just cracked my case. The drug ring I've been after is the same as Frank and Joe's terrorist group—they're only in the drug business to raise funds for their weapons. And honestly, Fenton, I know that Frank was assigned to a lot of this work—the signs were right in front of him. He should have figured this out a while ago."

"I guess he was distracted by your daughter's personal problems," Fenton snapped. "Did you call them?"

"Yes, I have a list of their personal and business numbers, and they're not picking up any of them."

Carson heard nothing for a moment. Fenton said shakily, "I think there must be some kind of a family emergency going on. Tell me what you need right now, Carson. Let me help you."

"The leader of their terrorist gang just arrived at the New York airport yesterday," Carson said bluntly. "Joe told me at the wedding that he thinks they'd target the Ben Franklin bridge. So it all depends on how long it takes these guys to get organized. I've got to say, though, that I can see why Halloween night would look very attractive to them."

Fenton groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "So what, should we try to shut down the bridge? That's a tall order, but I might be able to pull it off."

Carson paused for a moment, stunned that Frank and Joe had apparently not been keeping Fenton abreast of their investigations. What kind of relationship did those three have? "Fenton, these guys are into _biological_ warfare. If they release a toxin on the Ben Franklin bridge, it doesn't matter if we shut the bridge down."

Fenton swore loudly. "I know just where they'd position the device, too. Maximum wind, right over the water. The air and waterways would guarantee the widest distribution. New Jersey and Pennsylvania both would get pummeled, and who knows how far it would spread."

"Fenton, I'm going on a lot of hunches here. If I try to go through the red tape, they're going to want good evidence before they cause a panic on Halloween night, and I'm not even assigned to that case. I would need to collaborate heavily with Frank and Joe to even make an argument, and they can't be reached right now. Plus, if the toxin device is already attached to the bridge and the terrorists see a uniformed team try to go near it, they'd set off the remote control immediately."

Fenton made a decision. "You know that I'm trained in biologics," he said quietly. "It's been many years, and Joe's training is much more up-to-date. But it's all we've got right now, and better safe than sorry. We'll keep calling Joe and Frank, and hope that they can catch up."

"All right," Carson said, scared but relieved that there was a plan. "Where should we meet?"

"The Rutgers campus parking lot on the Camden side, you know—" Fenton stopped himself as he caught a glimpse of his own driveway. "Actually…uh…I don't have a vehicle. Can you pick me up?"

ndndnd

"That's it," Frank said, adjusting his night-vision goggles. "This guy knows something is up, since the crowd is thinning in there. I'm going in."

Joe had been in many similar positions with his brother throughout the years, but would never get used to the icy helpless feeling that seemed to form in his veins when Frank was in danger. "Keep your head, bro," he said. "Chase him out the door if you can. Don't rely completely on Mom's instructions. She must be hyperventilating right about now." Joe kept a hand near his concealed firearm, but not on it; the crowd could see him where he was standing.

Frank paused. "Actually, I've never heard her sound more calm and focused in her life." The two brothers shared a quizzical, suspicious look. Frank pressed a speed-dial on his phone. "I won't be able to talk when I'm in there, Mom," Frank said into his phone. "It's getting a lot quieter. Keep me abreast of where Nancy is and where the gunman is." Frank entered the clown house, the only person in the building who could see in the dark. The first thing he heard made him want to scream in aggravation.

"Nancy, where are you?" Tracy called, sounding worried. "Follow my voice. It's okay, don't be scared—"

"You can't climb that wall, Frank," Laura said into the phone. "Follow your path straight forward. Jump over the barrel prop, and the friend is on the other side."

Frank did as told in record time, putting away his phone. Reaching behind Tracy and grabbing both wrists with his left hand, he covered her mouth with his right. He easily overpowered her, ignoring her struggles and returning back the way he'd come from to drop her off with Joe. He was forced to kick aside the barrel, causing a resounding crash, and half-dragged Tracy around the corner and toward the emergency exit. If the gunman appeared now, he would be highly compromised with Tracy in his arms.

Finally Frank burst through the emergency exit. "Take her from me," Frank said. "She's Nancy's friend." The brothers exchanged Tracy, still restraining her and covering her mouth as best as they were able, until she could calm down enough to be released.

Frank got his mother back on the phone before re-entering. "Wait, wait," Laura said urgently. "The banging barrel distracted the gunman for a short time, but now he and Nancy both moved far away. You two need to relocate to the emergency exit on the other side of the building."

Frank left on his own, hoping that Joe could calm down Nancy's friend and still get to the other exit soon. "I'm going in from where you told me to, Mom. Just tell me where Nancy is. I'm getting her out." The building now vacant of visitors, they still couldn't turn on the lights because the gunman might shoot all clowns on his way to Nancy. Frank forced himself not to think of what could happen if a character actor tried to scare the gunman.

"Follow the path to the left," Laura ordered. Frank did as told, barely dodging an emerging clown. He continued walking, slowly, then picking up the pace as much as he dared. He rounded the corners cautiously and exactly in the middle, as the gunman could be hiding to the right or the left. Frank continued, right hand on gun, left hand on phone. Why wasn't his mother speaking to him? She must be distracted by whatever was going on with Nancy. Maybe Frank should speak aloud to distract the gunman from Nancy.

Finally Laura spoke, a note of panic discernible. "The gunman went in one of the blind spots, out of the camera's range, and I haven't seen him since. Either he's still in the blind spot or he put on a clown suit. Nancy's out of range too. Keep walking on your current path and I'll get you to the right corner, the one where Nancy should come out of the blind spot."

Frank broke into a run, knowing his only priority was the safety of Nancy and the crowd outside. He could take no offensive action, as he had no way of knowing which clown was the gunman. He prayed for the first time in many years. He banged on the wall, hitting props on the way by to try to pull the gunman away from Nancy. Two more clowns emerged, hands by their sides, and Frank sidestepped both of them, bracing for impact in case one of them was the gunman.

"Frank— _now_!" his mother shouted. "Climb the wall in front of you!"

All bets off, Frank pulled himself up the wall, draping a leg over. For a split second, he was forced to be vulnerable, balancing precariously on the top of the wall. Looking down, what he saw forced the breath out of his lungs.

ndndnd

"Damn, Drew, a station wagon?" Fenton couldn't resist muttering as he opened the side door.

Carson opened the driver's side door and threw Fenton the keys. "You're driving," he said, walking around to the passenger side. Fenton followed his lead.

"I know nothing about biologics, so I'm just along for moral support, I guess," Carson said, pulling out his phone. "If this is to be our last hour, I can think of no one that I would less like to spend it with. I've got some calls to make."

Fenton said nothing as he began to drive toward the highway, knowing that he deserved the comment. Neither man had insulted the other's intelligence by discussing preparation; each wore a bullet-proof vest and carried a flashlight and concealed firearm. If tonight was the scheduled time for the toxin to be released, then the terrorists would be waiting by the bridge, making sure everything went according to plan.

"Nancy's all I have in the world," Carson said, more to himself than to Fenton. "I've already called her and given my approval in case she wants to have a relationship with Frank. So it looks like I only have one more call to make."

Again the call went to voicemail. Fenton Hardy frowned in confusion as he heard the faint echoing of a familiar voicemail.

"Laura, it's Carson," Carson said. He rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. "It looks like I might be going into a very dangerous situation, and I might be killed. Therefore we need to clear something up. The morning after Kate left me to go on her mission, I, ahhh…I used every connection I had to check up on what other agents should have been sent instead of her." Carson's voice trembled. "I didn't receive the kind of answer that I was looking for. Kate was arguably the most qualified agent for the job, Laura. You sent her out maliciously, but she still had to go. The real sin was mine, letting you suffer for twenty years so I would have a convenient person to blame. I'm so sorry. May our feud end with our children." Carson pressed end.

Fenton's hands shook visibly on the steering wheel, and his throat had become dry and scratchy. He forced himself to speak. "Thank you, Carson, for making that call," he said thickly. "You're a better man than I am."

Carson turned to face him, his features hardening. "Not one apology from you, Hardy. Not one. Your wife sent flowers every October, cookies every Christmas. Nothing from you."

Fenton's head snapped toward Carson's direction, earning him lengthy honks from oncoming traffic until he straightened the vehicle. " _Apology_? How can anyone apologize for something like that?"

"I think I just gave you an example on how to apologize," Carson said curtly.

Fenton's forehead wrinkled in confusion, and a rare, helpless look appeared on his face. "Apologizing is offensive, Drew. They're just _words_."

"Words are very powerful, Fenton," Carson said emphatically. "And they mean something. I want to hear it from you."

Fenton took a shaky, deep breath, his voice catching on a blockage of phlegm in his throat. He cleared his throat. "Carson…I am so sorry for…for…"

"Sleeping with my wife," Carson prompted drily.

"And every horrific thing it's led to since then," Fenton hurried on, feeling light-headed. "Just a few nights of selfishness, and all the ways we've all suffered for it. I was an asshole, and I'm sorry."

Carson nodded, allowing the words to sink in. Fenton shrank back from him, uncomfortable even with the silence.

"All right then," Carson said, pulling out his phone again. "I accept the effort you made in apologizing, and if we come out of this alive, I may even forgive you some day. I can't claim that Kate was a saint, even with the heroic way that she died. But we're only a few minutes away now, so let's make _your_ calls." Carson hit redial, and put the phone on speakerphone when it got to voicemail.

Fenton heard his wife's voicemail message once more, and he knew what was expected of him. "Laura, umm…it's me. Please know that everything I do these days is to make up time with you…" Fenton looked at Carson helplessly, and Carson actually nodded encouragement. "I'm sorry for my mistakes, you know that, and I want you to have good memories of me…you are the only person I've ever truly let inside, and you mean…you mean…" Fenton's voice broke, and he began to sniffle.

Carson hung up. "Your tears will say it better than your words," he said, and dialed another number before Fenton could object.

Of course, it went to Joe's voicemail, as they still weren't picking up the phone. Fenton straightened up in his seat. This was what he was comfortable with. "Joe and Frank, it's Dad," he said, business-like. "I'm with Carson Drew, who has strong reason to believe that your terrorist group has planted a biologic agent on the Ben Franklin Bridge. We've decided to look into it ourselves, but we know that you have the training, Joe. Meet us at the bridge as soon as you can, and come prepared." Fenton leaned back.

Carson looked at him, and shook his head when he knew that Fenton was done speaking. He took the phone off speakerphone. "I'm not hanging up," he said drily. "You've said goodbye like a drill sergeant, and now you can say goodbye as a father." He pressed the speakerphone button once more and held it towards Fenton's direction.

Fenton winced. "And, boys…men…" he winced again. "This is a dangerous situation, and well…you know I'm not good at this sort of thing. But I want you to know that when I pushed you too hard growing up, it was because…I wanted you two to be prepared…and I wanted you to really…respect me." Fenton looked desperately at Carson, eyes begging him to hang up, and Carson shook his head fiercely. "Um….sometimes I forgot that I wasn't your drill sergeant, I was your father, and if I make it through this, I will try to remember it. And your mother was right, it's not that I didn't value your opinions, I actually valued them _too_ highly, in my own way…and I…I…love you both." Satisfied, Carson hung up.

"All right then," Carson said, tucking his phone away. "And now that we've prepared for the worst, _now_ it's time to focus on business. We've got a job to do."


	19. Chapter 19

Ten minutes previously, Nancy found herself making an abrupt about-face, back into inky blackness. She climbed the fence in front of her as instructed, grateful that the maze was so crudely built. The make-shift walls were low, about seven feet tall, so the character actors could climb them to scare the crowd. On the other side, she stopped in her tracks, horrified by what she heard.

"Don't worry about your friend calling for you, Nancy, Frank's going to take her out the side door," Laura Hardy said. "The best thing that you can do for them is get out of there yourself. Walk straight ahead, feeling along the wall to your right. There's an open space in the fence there that the staff use to cut through. You have to duck. Head through it and straight toward the other side, and duck again to get out the other side."

Nancy did as told, forcing herself not to think about the big picture. The crowd was almost gone. How long would the clown actors stay in character? What if they turned on the lights? Soon they'd be wondering what was going on. And Frank was distracted now as well. She was alone.

"All right, Nancy, you can't speak any more because Frank says it's too quiet in there," Laura's voice said on Nancy's phone. "Keep following the path." Nancy heard a note of uncertainly in Laura's voice, and knew that Laura was trying to make an important decision under pressure. Nancy followed orders, careful around corners, pretending to herself that it was a training exercise. Finally she heard Laura's voice again.

"Keep walking, Nancy…the staff here is telling me that there is a shorter route to the other emergency exit," Laura Hardy said shakily. "The problem is that it's outside of the camera range. The gunman is heading your direction, and he's a minute behind you, less if he chooses to climb walls. You need to follow the path to your right, and you need to do it quickly and silently. You're very brave, sweetheart. I know that you can do this. I'll stay on the phone and give encouragement while you walk. You'll be back in the camera range in just another minute."

Heart pounding, Nancy forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. She walked around props and swallowed her horror as a clown snickered nearby. She kept her right hand on the wall and just kept walking. Then the wall ended, and she felt a wide, open space.

Panic nauseated Nancy, and she swallowed rapidly. This was either a hole in the wall, a removed prop, or her path, and she didn't know which direction to walk. Such a simple solution, if she could turn on her phone light, or if she could speak. Such a simple problem that might cost her life.

"The gunman is outside of the camera range, Nancy," Laura said calmly. "Keep walking. You can do this."

 _Which direction?_ Nancy wanted to scream, and looked frantically to her right. Turning to her left, she froze in pure terror.

There, only a few feet to her left, stood a seven foot shadow, taller and somehow impossibly vacuous, a black hole with exaggerated humanoid form. It appeared to almost glow, somehow visible in the darkness. Long, flexible arms waved toward the left.

Nancy took a hesitant step backward. A hallucination was the last thing she needed. She remembered Zane's list of ways to resist hallucinations.

Then she remembered Zane's parting advice: _Do the opposite of what us mental patients do._

Nancy thought of Professor Ridlan's class: _Face your fears as quickly as possible._

A line from Edgar Allan Poe's short story "Imp of the Perverse" entered her thoughts unbidden: _And because our reason violently deters us from the brink, therefore do we the most impetuously approach it. There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him whom, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus mediates a plunge._

Nancy turned to the left and followed the shadow.

It continued to beckon, waving its arms for Nancy to continue. Nancy no longer resisted her fate, following in a straight path. Its tentacle brushed her as she passed, and Nancy felt an unearthly chill. She smelled a citrusy perfume that somehow felt familiar, comforting, and heard a faint echo of a mother and child laughing together. The shadow reappeared, seeming to teleport to a spot ten feet in front of her.

Nancy heard approaching footsteps.

Nancy rounded the corner and broke into a sprint. Each time she passed through the shadow, it appeared again. When a corner approached, the shadow pointed to the right or the left. It pointed up for her to climb a wall. Nancy valiantly tried to muffle her breathing, her footsteps softened by the straw on the floor of the barn.

The shadow pointed frantically, glowing brilliantly for one moment as Nancy approached the end of the next hallway. She took the cue and dived around the corner, hearing the soft impact of stifled bullets embedding into a bale of hay nearby. Vision blurring with tears, she could faintly see a red sign at the end of this new hallway.

"Nancy—you're back in camera range!" Laura Hardy shouted. "The exit is right in front of you! Run, Nancy, run like you've never run in your life!"

Silent tears slipping down her cheeks, Nancy pulled herself up for one final run. She built up momentum, the hallway impossibly long, passing through shadow after shadow, frantically pointing her to the red exit sign.

"Stop, Nancy!" Laura screamed frantically. "Stop, he's climbing the wall! Retreat! He'll be right in front of you!"

But it was too late. Nancy was running too fast. She tried to slow down and only succeeded in slamming directly into her assailant. Both fell hard and, stunned, they knew that the person who recovered quicker would be the one who survived. The red glow of the exit sign they were under was the only illumination.

Wincing, Nancy ignored the sticky blood trickling down her forehead from hitting her head on a metal prop. She focused all of her brain power on finding the gun, then all of her physical power on kicking it as far away from them as possible so he couldn't wrestle it from her. Her assailant had used the time to stand up. He towered over her, pulling another gun from his waistband. But first, to keep her still, he raised his boot to deliver a savage kick to Nancy's stomach.

ndndnd

Fenton and Carson pulled onto a side street in Camden, right down the block from the Rutgers campus. They took the pedestrian route up to the bridge. Fenton had explained that since there was a northern wind tonight, the device would be planted on the southern side of the bridge, somewhere toward the center, facing outward for the greatest possible wind distribution of the microbes.

The men attempted to run toward the center of the bridge, but were forced to slow to a fast walk, years of sitting behind desks having caught up with their physiques. Each man scanned his surroundings, grateful to see that the trick-or-treaters had returned to Camden already. There were only slight trickles of adult partiers on the bridge now, costumed and in various stages of intoxication.

"It's got to be around here somewhere," Fenton panted, the men arriving at the middle of the bridge. "It can't be in a too hard-to-reach area because they would have had to be on this bridge themselves, setting it up in broad daylight."

The two men searched the outer railings, knowing that it was well worth the added attention from onlookers and potential security cameras. It took an agonizing several minutes before their fears were confirmed.

"That tiny thing?" Carson asked in astonishment.

Fenton nodded. He had to lean way over the railing in order to analyze it. All the terrorists had had to do was attach it to the side of the outside railing and activate the remote, but Fenton knew these things didn't have an off switch. He would have to pull out each wire carefully in order to deactivate the remote control, then cradle the tiny vial carefully before it dropped, or the vial could break and release the microbes anyway.

Carson scanned their surroundings. A group of three pedestrians were gathered about a hundred yards away on the bridge, dressed in killer costumes from the movie _Scream_. The masks fully covered their heads with room to spare—plenty of room, in fact, to conceal gas masks. All three of them were looking toward Fenton and Carson.

"Fenton, I'm trying to buy you some time here," Carson said in a low voice, "but we've got company towards Philadelphia."

Without even glancing over, Fenton thought fast. He gripped the railings on either side of the device and made loud retching sounds. He panted and retched again, then stood up and leaned on the railings, rubbing his face.

A partier clapped Fenton on the way by. "Yeah, that's the spirit, Pops! Here, have another," and he passed Fenton a beer.

Fenton smiled weakly and took a swig of the beer. He would have to get back to work, though. He leaned drunkenly and continued to analyze the device. _I need you, Joe._ He plucked out one wire and its corresponding light went out, but he wasn't sure of the next move. He was also trying not to think of the fact that even after all he'd put Carson Drew through, Carson might well have to give even his life in the next few minutes to protect a man who'd had an affair with his wife.

"Try to get Joe on the phone again," Fenton muttered to Carson. "There isn't time to call anyone else about this. I don't know why these terrorists aren't releasing this toxin right now."

Carson knew why. They were waiting for orders from their leader, who was obviously caught up in getting revenge on Nancy. Heart sickening, he realized that that was probably where the rest of the Hardys were as well. Fenton hadn't mentioned it to him so he wouldn't be distracted.

Carson heard a noise toward the New Jersey side, and turned his head. Straightening, he gasped in horror at what he saw.

ndndnd

Twenty-five minutes previously, Frank saw Nancy dazed and curled on the floor, fresh blood coursing down her face from a head wound. Frank saw her assailant with a gun pointed toward Nancy's chest, his boot raised just above Nancy's stomach, his expression deadly with hatred.

Frank's rationality faded with a final thought: _This is exactly how my daughter was murdered last year._

Frank couldn't remove his gun in time because of his precarious position straddling the fence. Pushing off the wall with one leg, he attacked in a blind rage, slamming his body into the gunman. Both Frank and the assailant toppled over, the gun between them discharging and falling several feet away. Frank flipped onto his side from the point-blank impact, wincing in pain, his gun flying several feet into the darkness. Nancy screamed in despair, not knowing about Frank's bullet-proof vest. She tried to find the other gun.

The sound of the gunshot and the scream reached Joe from his position just outside the emergency door. Joe stood to the side and kicked open the door, paused and looked, and then entered the barn, shutting the door behind him. The character actors began shouting among themselves, scared, most of their footsteps moving away from the sounds but a couple of curious heroes running their way.

"Everybody leave through the front and back entrances only!" Joe yelled. "If anyone turns the light on, we open fire!" His idle threat was quite effective. With three versus one, Joe calculated that the darkness would help them.

Joe impatiently waited for his eyes to adjust to the blackness. He saw Nancy hunched over, trying to move, and his idiot brother scuffling with the assailant. "Get out of the way, Frank!" he yelled. "I've got my gun on him, now _move_! Nancy, get out!" He stood in front of Nancy to block her.

Frank continued punching with all his strength, knowing he was meeting his mark by the increasing grunts of pain. In the back of his mind he heard sirens, and knew that he should be finding a gun before his opponent did.

In the midst of it all, Nancy saw her shadow, finally standing still. Nancy knew how she could distract the gunman, if only for a second.

Nancy slowly inched back and to the side, Joe's sights pinned to the fight before him.

" _Frank_!" Joe shouted.

Nancy moved over until she was directly behind the shadow. "I'm still here, you know," she panted, taunting the gunman.

"Damn it, Nancy!" Joe yelled, but couldn't get in front of her in time. The assailant broke free from Frank and lunged for Nancy and the gun he'd seen to her right, not knowing what he would be passing through.

The gunman gasped in shock, not expecting the inhuman, sickening chill that entered his entire body as he passed through the shadow. He landed a foot in front of Nancy, eyes widened in terror.

That second was all Joe needed. He shot the gunman in the stomach.

The assailant's face contorted in pain, clutching his stomach in an effort to hold his insides in. The struggle was over.

"Too bad," Joe said calmly, "he still might survive." Pulling out his high-beam flashlight, he jerked his head in Frank's direction. "We've still got to search him, bro."

Panting, Frank forced himself to follow procedure rather than take Nancy in his arms. Lunging to the back of the assailant, the first thing he did was pin the man's arms behind his back, applying handcuffs. He searched the seriously wounded man and found nothing else but a cell phone and a set of car keys. Taking both, he headed toward Nancy. He slowly and carefully knelt on one knee to take her in his arms. He intended to carry her out of there, injured ribs notwithstanding.

Nancy peered over to where Frank had deposited the gunman face-up, and uttered a sharp inhale of surprise. "Oh my goodness, that's the bistro guy from my stint in Paris last year. Oh my gosh, never in a million years…."

Laura Hardy burst in the emergency exit.

"What the hell, Mom?" Joe growled at her. "Do you realize what you could have walked into?"

"Watch your mouth," Laura snapped at him automatically, using the light from Joe's flashlight to gather their scattered belongings. "I couldn't sit by and do nothing while you all were in here. We've got to go."

The three others suddenly realized that the sound of sirens were awfully close. Turning into the parking lot, in fact.

"I just checked voicemail," Laura said. "Fenton and Carson are headed somewhere dangerous. We've got some kind of a situation that can't wait for us to answer cops' questions."

Frank stood up with Nancy in his arms, cradling her like a baby, ignoring his pain. "Joe and I parked just outside the other emergency exit. Lead the way back through this funhouse, Mom. You've got to have it memorized by now."

And Laura did just that, this time with the help of a flashlight. Nancy helped the only way she could, whispering encouragements to Frank that seemed to lessen his pain and strengthen his endurance. They left via the other emergency exit just as police burst through the front door, turning the lights on. Frank herded his mother and Nancy into the back seat of the car and hopped into the front, Joe taking off as Frank tried to pull his own door shut. Police ran to guard all the exits, also noticing Joe's car and running toward it. Joe spun wheels in his effort to accelerate, careening the car through the field and taking a most untraditional route back to the main road.

Nancy saw a glimpse of Tracy sobbing in her boyfriend's arms, not knowing if Nancy was alive or dead. Nancy sighed wearily and leaned back, allowing Laura to mop off the worst of the blood that was beginning to clot in her hair. Frank called his base to give a very basic message for them to pass along to the Camden police, stressing the need to keep maximum security on the injured terrorist in the funhouse while he received medical care.


	20. Chapter 20

Frank, Joe, Laura, and Nancy spent the ten-minute ride to the bridge checking each voicemail on speakerphone and catching up to speed. And each person repressed his or her emotion in their own way in order to focus on the task ahead.

"You're right. Work does come first," Frank said to his brother, weighed down by guilt. "I should have figured all this out by now. Of course it's the same gang."

"Blame game isn't going to help us now. We've got to focus," Joe said to the group. "With just a couple of uninterrupted minutes, I think I can disable that remote they've described. Frank, I'm going to need you out there for backup. Mom, I hope one day I have the opportunity to ream you a new one for apparently never telling us that you're a trained agent, but we can't hear the story now. We need you and Nancy to guard the New Jersey side of the bridge. The terrorists are going to be standing by, making sure everything goes according to plan."

"All right," Laura said numbly, her heart bleeding the same way it always did when her loved ones were in danger. She had her arm around Nancy, rubbing the younger woman's back like they were mother and daughter. "All it takes is one gun, though. I think Nancy should stay in the car as a look-out."

"I'm going," Nancy said tiredly.

"Don't bother, Mom," Frank said, "it'll only make her upset."

The ten minutes went by very quickly, and Nancy and Laura had barely concealed their bullet-proof vests and firearms when Joe double-parked near the Rutgers parking lot, the four heading toward the pedestrian walkway as quickly as they could without arousing suspicion. The streets of Camden were quiet, the light from the street lamps glaring and sporadic as the four approached the spiral staircase that led up to the bridge. Traffic on the bridge was thinner at this time of night, and the four heard the sounds of car engines accelerating up the steep incline, the rumble of tires adjusting to the increased demands.

"All right, here's where Frank and I leave you," Joe said in a low voice, ducking toward his mother and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "If we don't make it back, call our supervisor first. He'll take things from there."

"You people forget that I'm crazy, not stupid," Nancy said calmly.

The three Hardys turned to stare at her, stunned.

"We all know that Joe and I have the same biologics training," Nancy continued. She turned her head and met Joe's fierce gaze straight-on. "But you have children that need you."

Frank recovered first and lunged for Nancy, but she had already taken off up the stairs, her footsteps echoing on the spiral staircase, afterward breaking into a sprint toward the center of the bridge. Wincing, Frank followed the best that he could, given the state of his bruised ribs. His fear kept him moving despite the pain.

"Not for me," Joe whispered, eyes following Nancy's retreating figure. "I can't believe you're sacrificing yourself for _me_. How can I let you?" Joe made a move to follow, and hesitated. Could he really leave his mother behind to face any danger alone?

He turned to look at Laura. Laura looked back at him, expression riddled with fear but also a quiet strength that Joe realized he'd always taken for granted. Joe looked at the bridge, and back at his mother. Four agents on the bridge would have to be enough.

He took two steps toward his mother, closing the distance between them, and put a gentle hand on her arm. "You shouldn't lose your husband and both sons in one night," Joe said quietly. "I'm staying."

Laura's shoulders sagged with relief just as she and Joe heard a fragmented conversation coming from an alleyway nearby. They never would have heard it if the water and wind hadn't carried the words to them.

"I don't know what's going on up on that bridge, but we've waited long enough. Something obviously happened to our leader. I'm giving the signal myself. Let those two suspicious old guys get sprayed in the face."

Joe immediately nodded to his mother, who already had her hand on her gun. She covered one side and Joe covered another, and they whipped out their guns and rounded the corner, effectively surprising the three _Scream_ -costumed people who sat in a semicircle.

"Hands up," Joe ordered, and all three hesitated, wondering if they should fight back.

Laura fired three rounds at their feet. She wasn't worried about the sound of gunshots; this was Camden, after all. "Hands up, all of you, and if you hit 'send' on that cell phone, I'm blowing it out of your hand."

The gang did as told.

Joe turned wide eyes toward his mother. " _Damn_ , Mom."

Laura shrugged.

"Well, it looks like we rounded up the gang from the New Jersey side, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was another one on the other side of the bridge, or even _on_ the bridge." Joe sighed. "Containing these guys is a good start, but they won't work as hostages. Their buddies would rather get the job done than save their friends. Mom, hold the gun on them while I search them."

ndndnd

Nancy had wanted to enter the scene more valiantly than she did. Her sprint had rapidly turned into a jog, then a fast walk. She'd had to travel almost a mile to arrive where Carson and Fenton stood, and the pedestrian walkway was even steeper than the route the cars passed on. As expected, her father was heartbroken to see her.

"Oh, Nancy, I wish you hadn't come," Carson said dejectedly, speaking as quietly as he could while still being heard over the cars and wind.

"It's okay, Dad," Nancy said between gasps for breath. The pedestrian path was well lit, and Nancy adjusted quickly to the glare from the headlights on the bridge. Fenton saw her and backed out of the way. Nancy had to stand on her tiptoes to peer over the railing at the tiny vial with small, flashing lights attached to each wire. _Joe was right,_ Nancy assessed. _I need two good, solid, focused minutes._

Nancy tried her best to tune out what happened next and focus on her assignment. She heard Frank arrive, wheezing in pain, and felt the three men pressed tightly against her back, protecting her bodily. Far from simply looking suspicious, they now looked downright obvious.

"Oh, hell no," a voice said from down the bridge, pulling out his phone. Frank whipped out his gun and shot the cell phone out of the man's hand. The man screamed and clutched his hand, blood dripping. His cell phone clattered once on the railing, then fell a long way to the water below.

"Get out of here," Carson snapped to two lone pedestrians walking their way. The two didn't need to be told twice.

Blood rushed to Nancy's head from her position over the railing, and she kept working furiously. She pulled out each wire as soon as she was reasonably confident that it was correct. She heard a bullet whiz by, just over her head. Her hair dangled in her face, whipping in the vicious wind, and she impatiently shook to head to get it out of her way. That was her critical mistake.

Nancy felt her feet leave the ground involuntarily, and her eyes suddenly focused on the mirky waters of the river below. For one brief instant she maintained balance. Then, equilibrium lost, Nancy let out a scream as she topped over the railing.

From a haze of panic, Nancy heard a fog of disjointed voices and then felt a rough jerk on her left arm. Her shoulder popped as the world slowed down and became right-side up again. She felt strong hands gripping her left forearm, a rush of wind, and violent impact as her body slammed against the outside of the steel railing. Her stomach lurched powerfully in protest.

"Nancy," a voice said urgently above her. "Nancy, it's Fenton. Keep working. I've got you. I will not let go. You're doing a great job, Nancy. Keep going."

As soon as Fenton had started talking, Nancy heard Carson and Frank's sprinting footsteps. The two had been forced into confronting the three terrorists at close range, since the terrorists now had a much easier shot at Nancy hanging over the railing.

Swallowing her panic, Nancy forced her wild eyes to focus on the device in front of her, just slightly above eye level. She might even be able to finish quicker, now that her puzzle was right-side up.

And, miraculously, she kept working, despite her precarious position and the sounds of scuffling and shooting on the bridge. With her aching left arm she was supported by the man she'd fled from a couple of hours ago, the man whose wife had directed her to safety, and with her right hand she continued to pull out tiny wires.

Nancy flinched slightly as she heard Frank's wild cry of pain. Faintly she heard cars honking and squealing wheels. The cars on the bridge didn't have a good view of what was happening, but certainly could hear the gunshots.

She kept working. A bullet whizzed by, grazing the bottom of her calf, and she ignored the trickle of blood. She heard the long, frantic cry of a man who had been flipped over the railing and into the river below. Fenton grunted with effort, sweat accumulating on his hands.

Finally Nancy arrived at the last two wires. She had known all along that there was no way of knowing which wire to pull. It was a crapshoot, and the technology was designed that way. It was the nature of the business.

Without hesitating, Nancy plucked the upper of the two wires.

The device powered down.

Nancy immediately cupped her only free hand directly under the device. With a soft click, it released the small vial into Nancy's hand.

"I'm pulling you up now, Nancy," she heard Fenton say with effort, teeth gritted. "Give me your other hand." He let go of Nancy with his left hand to grab for her right.

Instead of giving him her hand, Nancy put the vial into his palm. Fenton's grip on her left arm slipped one inch.

Swearing softly, Fenton tucked the vial into his pocket. He reached his hand out for Nancy again. Suddenly his expression shattered with the raw experience of sheer physical pain. He'd been shot.

Nancy felt Fenton's grip release completely, and she closed her eyes, strangely calm. She was dangling too far out to be able to grab the railing, and she knew that. Her mission was complete. She would be joining her mother, dying in the line of duty. Maybe it wouldn't hurt too much when she hit the water; at this height, maybe it would be instant.

Suddenly Nancy felt a jerk and a crack in her left wrist, then searing pain. The hand jerked her up, then took hold of her arm with his other hand, and continued lifting her up with superhuman strength. Finally, when she was high enough, Frank put both of his hands under Nancy's armpits and shouted with the effort of pulling her over the railing. Nancy saw her father with his arms wrapped around Frank's waist, almost sitting down on the pedestrian path in the effort to help pull Nancy back over the side. Finally she was up and over, rewarded with fresh bruises as her body toppled onto the concrete, Frank falling next to her. Frank rolled over and held her tightly, holding her to him like she was a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. The two sat up and Frank wrapped his arms around Nancy's waist from behind.

Dazed, Nancy struggled within Frank's grip to gaze at her surroundings. Impossibly, her father was fine, and there was one dead body and one person handcuffed to the railing. "You're hurt," she remembered, turning around and searching Frank's body for signs of his injury.

Frank pointed to his chest. "Once again I owe my life to the people who created this vest. But broken ribs have to heal on their own."

Nancy, Carson, Fenton, and Frank heard the sound of sirens, and saw people in uniform running toward them from the base of the bridge in Philadelphia. "Perfect timing as always," Carson muttered, removing his belt.

Frank pulled out his phone and checked the messages. "Joe and Mom are all right," he announced, "and with even more low-lifes who can tell us where this gang's chemical lab is."

Fenton shut his eyes in relief, a pool of blood surrounding his knee, and Frank jumped up to help Carson apply the tourniquet. The footsteps grew louder, and Nancy took back the vial to make sure it wouldn't break. Once they'd finished basic first aid for Fenton, Nancy suddenly thought of something.

"Frank, what time is it?" she asked hurriedly.

Anxious again, Frank checked his watch. "It's 11:13, why?"

Nancy nodded. "Good, it's not November yet. Will you be my boyfriend, Frank Hardy?"

Frank looked at her, mouth agape, in stunned surprise. Carson laughed and clapped, and Fenton's eyes would have twinkled if they were able to.

"I thought you'd never ask," Frank murmured into her left ear, and pulled her in for a kiss as the officers approached.


	21. Chapter 21

(Two years later)

Nancy groaned, gesturing to the massive pile of toys, books, clothes and carseats. "Come on, people, I'm having twins, I'm not the octomom. Much appreciated, but these kids will never be able to learn to walk, with my new house covered head to foot with assorted paraphernalia." Nancy tried to get out of the kitchen chair to help with the post-party cleanup, but soon realized that she was stuck.

Joe's wife Amanda laughed at her. "Just be glad Joe and I didn't decide to clean out all our old hand-me-downs for you," she teased, walking around the room with a trash bag. "Sit down, Laura and I've got this."

The sight of Amanda picking up trash reminded Nancy of her former client Maria. Nancy had thought it was her own job to teach Maria something, but the two women had ended up empowering each other. "Geez, we're in the third millennium A.D., and the wives are still cleaning up while the men lounge in their man cave?"

Raucous laughter floated out from the living room, where Frank, Joe, Fenton, and Carson were watching a very old black-and-white Halloween movie, originally intended to be scary but now hilariously funny.

Laura gave her daughters-in-law a wink from her spot washing dishes. "We'll consider this our special present to them, for being good sports about coming to a baby shower." Laura had assessed her options and ultimately chosen to stay in retirement, but this time her decision had been made with dignity.

Madeleine waddled into the kitchen and straight for her favorite aunt. Nancy laughed and searched for a napkin to remove the frosting caked on both cheeks. Madeleine's brother ran in a minute later, breathless from all the running. He couldn't help but immediately focus on the planet attached to where Nancy's waist used to be.

"What are you naming the babies, Aunt Nancy?" he asked, grabbing more candy.

"Well, I think I need your help with that," Nancy said thoughtfully. "I'm thinking Mario and Luigi. Or maybe Batman and Robin. Tweedledee and Tweedledum has a nice ring to it."

"I can hear you, Nancy, and hell to the no," Frank called from the living room.

"Watch your mouth," Laura called back.

When Frank and Nancy's house was mostly straightened and the movie was over, the men finally emerged from their haven. "Glad I survived that party," Joe said. "I've conquered a fear today, and it wasn't all that bad. Always wondered what kind of witch-brewing you ladies did at these things." Amanda rolled her eyes.

Joe turned toward Nancy and gave her his typical conspiratorial wink. It was Nancy's turn to roll her eyes. She had tried to convince Joe many times that she and Frank would have ended up married despite Joe's interference, but Joe would not be persuaded. Nancy allowed Joe to stroke his own ego because she would always have blackmailing leverage. She had never told Frank about the conversation she and Joe had at Bess's rehearsal dinner.

Last to come out of the living room was Fenton, sweat beginning to bead around his temples. He grimaced and put more of his weight into his cane as he walked.

"Bad today, honey?" Laura asked quietly. Arthritis had long since crept into his knee wound, nevertheless Fenton Hardy still spoke of October 31, 2015 as a positive turning point in his life.

"Still glad I came, of course," Fenton said, the family gathering in the kitchen to say goodbye. Nancy knew that she couldn't get up and her father-in-law couldn't come down, so she blew him a kiss this time.

"Frank, see you guys at church tomorrow?" Fenton asked, raising one arm.

Frank walked into his father's side-hug and squeezed briefly. "See you there, Dad. Love you." Joe took Frank's place and hugged his father as well. Madeleine gently squeezed her grandfather's good leg.

Carson and Laura were talking in the outside hallway. Nancy strained to hear them over everyone's packing up and saying goodbye.

"I know you're getting ready to do it, but I've been thinking," Carson said to Laura. "The flowers were something you sent when you felt guilty, so I think it's time to choose a different way to honor Kate. Maybe we can all spend an extra family day together, make a wreath for her grave or something, I don't know."

"Of course, Carson, that's a fabulous idea. Call me sometime next week, we'll work it all out," Laura said, kissing Carson on both cheeks.

Finally Carson approached Nancy's chair to say his goodbyes.

Nancy arched an eyebrow. "Don't try to keep secrets from me, young man."

"What?" Carson asked mischievously.

"You've got a glow about you. You're _dating_ someone, Dad!"

And her father actually _giggled_. "It's only been a few dates, Nancy, nothing serious, so don't get your hopes up."

"My hopes will not be ordered around by you, but no pressure," Nancy said, beaming up at him. She'd saved her most warming, heartfelt smile for her father.

Finally the front door closed behind the last person. "All right, let's get started on the thank-you notes," Nancy called to Frank teasingly.

Frank walked in and leaned on the kitchen wall in front of Nancy. "I don't think there's enough stationary in the world, what with the presents from church, the presents from work, the presents from graduate school…and Bess and George throwing you _another_ party next week…and geez, if I never hear the name Derrick Ridlan again, it'll be too soon." The twin baby bouncers from Professor Ridlan took up half the living room wall.

Nancy laughed but had to protest. "Come on, Frank, he'll be my advisor for my Master's thesis in another year. We agreed that I'd take next semester off for the babies, but starting next September…well…you know how I get when I'm excited about a school project."

Frank rolled his eyes. "My wife, the forensic social worker. Women. Why did we ever let them out of the kitchen?" Nancy threw a sponge at him.

Frank dodged and held out his hands. "Come on, honey, you knew this moment would come."

"Stand _up_?" Nancy squealed. "Frank, _you_ try to stand up when—"

"But you have to pee, am I right? And sorry, I can't do that part for you." Amid many grunts and groans, Nancy finally emerged from her chair and made it to the bathroom. They had to use the same techniques to stand her up all over again.

"Forget it, this is it," Nancy said, rolling her eyes and brushing her teeth. "I'm getting right in bed." And she did just that, balancing her textbook against her massive stomach.

Frank worked in his office for another forty-five minutes, making sure he stayed on top of his missing persons case. The biowarfare terrorist case had turned out to be much more complicated than hoped for, and Frank and Joe had worked very long hours to try to prevent a similar catastrophe from cropping up again. When Nancy had learned that she was pregnant, Nancy and Amanda had talked to Frank and Joe together about the possible consequences of continuing in the terrorism field with small children at home. The men had gratefully handed the reins of the case to another set of partners, and were now working in a different arena. Missing persons wasn't exactly safe either, but Frank and Joe required a certain amount of adrenaline rush.

As soon as he was able, Frank joined Nancy in the bedroom, pulling on the raggedy sweatpants that she couldn't convince him to throw out. She couldn't complain, though; Frank had allowed her to hang a picture of Edgar Allan Poe over their bed, as Nancy still read his works on the subconscious mind like a psychological textbook.

"Schoolwork, typical," Frank said with an eye roll.

Nancy smiled sideways at him and kept reading, but suddenly gasped and clutched her stomach, her textbook falling to the floor. "Oh!"

"What?" Frank practically screeched, always at high alert when it came to Nancy's pregnancy.

"One of them is kicking, come feel it! Right now!"

Frank dived across the bed, bouncing toward Nancy's direction, and put both hands on Nancy's stomach. "Ooooh, I feel it!" he said excitedly. He rested his head on Nancy's stomach and was instantly rewarded with a karate kick to the cheekbone.

"Ow!" he protested, Nancy laughing.

"Well, what did you expect?" she teased. "That answers my question, then. I was wondering whether it was David or Goliath who was kicking."

Frank peered suspiciously at Nancy. "You know I'm not going to leave you alone with the hospital staff, right, Nancy? Our sons will not be happy if we have to burn their birth certificates. Let's work it out and stick to the plan, shall we?"

Nancy giggled.

Frank lay next to Nancy, one hand on her stomach as the baby calmed down. He propped his head on his elbow. "Now seriously, Nance, don't be mad, I'm just the concerned husband. Today must have been very stressful for you. Did you see or feel _anything_ out of the ordinary?"

Nancy saluted. "All in order, Sergeant."

"I'm _serious_ , Nancy!"

"I'm serious too!" Nancy said, laughing. Several months after their crisis on the bridge, Nancy had begun very slowly to wean off her antipsychotic medication. When she'd discovered that she was pregnant, the psychiatrist had been forced to abruptly discontinue the pills. Nancy had not seen or felt a shadow since the month of the twentieth anniversary of her mother's death.

"It's an interesting question, isn't it, Frank," Nancy said, musing. "I know we've always lived in the realm of logic, but that doesn't mean there can't be a supernatural explanation. There is a sort of logic in saying that maybe my mother was watching over me, or maybe our daughter. I know that I skipped a few days of meds before that night in the barn, but was it really just coincidence that I happened to smell my mom's perfume? My dad couldn't believe I could describe that perfume so accurately. Your father is still adamant that he felt something in that upstairs room in the church, something he couldn't feel just from a draft. And I _know_ that man in the barn felt it."

Frank was never comfortable with this type of conversation, but pushed aside his mental barriers. "I keep coming back to this business about conversion disorder, how family secrets or dysfunctions can suddenly manifest themselves in different ways years or decades later. It is a good, solid, very pleasant fact that you haven't blacked out since we found out about…your mom and my…my…"

Nancy and Frank both wrinkled their noses at the reminder. "Forgiveness is a process that has to happen every day," Nancy said. "Especially self-forgiveness."

"True," Frank agreed. "And if we hadn't found out about all that mess, and secrets, and guilt, and even beginning to speak about our miscarriage, nobody from my family or yours could have really processed it and begun to move forward."

Nancy sighed and interlaced her fingers on the top of her stomach. "Mental illness…what is it? With the crazy world we live in, a person would have to be crazy _not_ to be affected by all the shenanigans going on around them. 'Crazy' is just a term we give to behavior we don't understand, people who can't absorb it all anymore, who fight back, who won't go on with the normal cycle of life until something changes."

"Yup, that sounds like my wife," Frank said.

Nancy gave him a withering look. "Thanks so much. I'll have you know, the psychiatrist said that if I continue to do so well, he might be able to erase this diagnosis from my chart in a year or two. I like that guy, but it would be _so_ nice never to have to see him again."

Frank raised his eyebrows saucily. "Better never say that about me."

Nancy's expression softened, and she found that she couldn't banter any more. "Never," she said, gazing into the depths of his brown eyes. "You are my rock, Frank. You are all the things that I was incapable of being for myself."

Frank found that he couldn't speak past the lump forming in his throat. He took Nancy's left arm and rolled her towards him. Their sons between them, Frank kissed her long and thoroughly.

*Finis*

A/N: Thank you so, so much to my reviewers, max2013, J, all the fabulous Guests that I can't contact, CorkyBookworm1, SparklingSoul, popalot, BucketOfSunshine, Torchwood Cardiff, and 1Roanoke1. It was exciting to see a few kind souls reviewing throughout, and also exciting to pick up some reviewers along the way. Either way I wouldn't have bothered posting this entire story if I'd gotten no feedback, so my hat is off to all of you. I wrote this story back in November 2015 for nanowrimo, which I would recommend every writer participates in at least once ( ). It took me two and a half weeks to write, and over three months to post. Thanks again, until next time, JB


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